


Rankle & Gall

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angsty Schmoop, Conversations, M/M, Mark of Cain, Reunion Sex, Season 9, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Gadreel-reveal: after a month of not really finishing their unfinished arguments,  Sam and Dean finally do finish one, and get back on the same page so that they can deal with the Mark of Cain the Winchester Way -  together. An alternate take on Season 9 with Cain summoning, soul-bonding, Oz-sourced magical spell casting, much lasagna baking, and angsty reunion-type schmoop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author Note: Not my characters, only my words. Set after episode 9.13 “The Purge”, very AU S9 after that. Written for the 2014 spn-j2-bigbang, thank you to wendy and everyone else that makes this fabulous challenge happen year after year. Huge thanks to my beta, firesign10, you made such a tremendous, critical difference in this story, your help is a treasure. Thank you DigitalWave for the great art! You were wonderful to work with, and I love how well your art suits the story. Art Masterpost is [Here on AO3.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2103195)
> 
> Story Notes: Ozian words completely made up by yours truly, but inspired by Frank L. Baum’s wonderful invented language. Latin demon summoning ritual courtesy of the very helpful supernatural wiki. Hebrew words and translations courtesy of various Wikipedia searches and are not put forth as entirely accurate. Bobby’s phrase “Do Not Fester. To Fester Is Bad” is actually my favorite customer service slogan ever from this bead store in Vermont. Which brings me to the story title: Rankle (to cause someone to feel angry or irritated for a long time), in the archaic form also means: (of a wound or sore) continue to be painful; fester. And Gall means: To make someone feel annoyed or angry, or more colorfully the contents of the gallbladder ie bile which is a synonym for bitterness, resentment, rancor, malice, spite, poison. Thought the two words went together really well to illustrate Sam and Dean in S9.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

Don’t think. Just keep chopping. Don’t dwell on what he said, there’s no point now. Do I still have enough tomatoes left for this? Should have just said it last night, should have broken down his door instead of letting him close me out. I hope this ricotta is still okay. He wouldn’t understand anyways, who could forgive something like this? Not even Sam could. Doesn’t seem like enough mozzarella, I’m putting in the whole thing, I don’t care what the recipe says.

He’s startled out of his internal conversation by his phone buzzing on the table on the other side of the kitchen. He puts down the knife and wipes his hand on his apron, crosses the room, and flips open the phone, hitting the speakerphone button. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Dean, just calling to say hey. And to say thanks.”

Dean’s shoulders draw in on themselves, imagining being squashed in one of Garth’s still kind of uncomfortable hugs. “Garth, ‘m surprised to hear from you.”

“Well, I just wanted to tell you again, …uh, that I really appreciate what you and Sam did for us. For me and Bess. I know you didn’t have to and all. And I just…well, I wanted to say it again.”

“You stay on the straight and narrow and we’ll call it even, okay buddy?” Dean’s finger hovers over the button to hang up, impatient to get back to the cooking at hand.

“You got it, dude. Oh, one more thing,” Garth inserts quickly, apparently sensing that Dean’s ready to cut him off.

“What’s that?” Dean asks reluctantly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling even though Sam’s not there to give him a hard time about it.

“I was thinkin’ about you and Sam and your, uh… issues. And I remembered about the stuff you said when we were on that hunt last year in Missouri. Ya know, with the cursed penny, when the spectre had you and you almost killed Sam?”

Garth sounds like he’s trying to pussyfoot around something, and it’s pissing Dean off; he just wants him to get to the point already. So he asks impatiently, “What about it?”

“You talked to Sam about it, right?”

“Talked to him about what?” Dean asks, picking up his knife and chopping the white onion on the cutting board.

“All those things you said when you were tryin’ to kill him.”

“Why would I? What the crap are you talkin’ about, Garth?” Dean asks, setting down his knife to pick up a head of garlic. He starts peeling the cloves meticulously, one by one until they all sit naked, waiting for the knife.

“Oh, man. Dean, do you even remember what all you said?”

“Not really,” Dean says, bringing the knife down harder on the garlic than is strictly necessary. But it’s cathartic, and Garth is poking at a tender place he doesn’t want to think about right now. Not on top of everything else.

“It was nasty. I mean downright terrible,” Garth says, sounding a little shaken just at remembering what he’d witnessed between the brothers.

Done with the garlic and almost done with Garth, Dean asks sharply, “And your point is?”

“Just, c’mon, Dean, he heard all of that, took it onboard straight up, and then what? Got back in the car with you? No fightin’, no nothin’?”

“Well, a little, I guess, nothing unusual. Not for us anyways,” Dean admits, yanking the leaves off a bunch of fresh basil.

“Now, I might be pushin’ it a little bit here, but let me just say this, okay?”

“Hit me,” Dean says with real reluctance, rolling his eyes once again.

“I can hear you rollin’ your eyes at me over the phone, man. This is important, this is Sam we’re talkin’ about. Kevin and I talked about him, and how he was before the Trials and the Angel Fall. And all that stuff you said to him did not just roll right off of him. It stuck, and it’s festering.”

“Festering?” Dean asks, squinching up his face as he pictures well, anything festering. He asks himself, what was Bobby’s saying, Do Not Fester, To Fester is Bad? This is probably what the old man was talking about.

“Yeah, I could tell when I saw you guys that somethin’ was real off. But I was so worried about my family and all, I didn’t have a chance to try and say anything while you were here.”

“Say anything about what?” Dean smashes the flat of the knife onto the pile of the basil leaves and then chops them into bits, gritting his teeth to avoid yelling at Garth to get to the damned point already.

“Now, just to be clear, I’m really not tryin’ to be Bobby or anythin’ like that. But I know you two don’t have many friends to talk to. And if my partner had said to me the things you said to Sam, I’d have needed some help processing it. I’m bettin’ Sam never said a word to you, or anyone else for that matter.”

“Sam’s a big boy now, I’m sure he’s fine, Garth.”

“Oh sure, he’s fine, as in clearly being clinically depressed fine.”

Dean drops the knife and stands up straight, all his attention suddenly zeroed in on the phone. “Who? Sam?”

“Yeah, him. I’m serious here, Dean. He needs some help, and I know you two are struggling with something big between you right now, it was pretty obvious whey you guys were here. But with Kevin gone now, he’s only got you to talk to.”

Dean sighs and sags against the edge of the counter, bowing his head at what he suspects will come next. “So what do you suggest?”

“Start with the stuff you said when the spectre had ahold of you. Because if you didn’t counter all of it back then when you said it, he’s likely convinced himself that you deep down believe every hateful thing you spewed at him.”

“No way,” Dean says, mouth hanging open in disbelief, eyes automatically shifting to the hallway door to check that he’s still alone.

“You think Sam believes you completely trust him? Because you were yelling about how he betrayed you and lied to you.”

“Well, he did. And now I did. So we’re even or something,” Dean shrugs even though no one can see him, to shake off the feeling that Garth was right.

“That’s another story. You deal first with what you said, because I think all this other stuff is just laid over that wound. Festering, like I said.”

“He does hold onto stuff,” Dean muses, trailing off considering the very long list of stuff Sam’s got to hold onto.

“No kidding, really? Wonder where he learned that?”

“You being sarcastic with me now wolf-boy?” Dean fake-growls towards the phone on the counter.

“Don’t call me that, that’s jus’ plain rude. And yes, ya caught me, I am bein’ sarcastic. Privilege of friends, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Garth,” Dean answers with true warmth in his voice. Garth might be annoying, but he’s sharp, and probably right about all this Sam-stuff.

“Thank me by actually talking to Sam. Catch you on the flipside.”

“Not if I catch you first,” Dean answers with a pained laugh.

Dean hangs up and goes back to assembling the sauce for the lasagna. Apologizing by cooking Sam’s favorite dinner is probably not really the way to go, but he’s been putting off continuing the conversation they’d had last night. That’s the problem - they’re not finishing the discussions that do get started. And at this point, it’s going to be a long one, one that they’re both hesitant to start, much less stick around and finish. At least he figured out that avoiding being in the same room as Sam and drinking himself into a stupor wasn’t going to work this time so he didn’t even bothering trying that. He’s even cooking dry, no Julia Child action for him, nosiree. And now there’s this stuff from Garth to think about.

It doesn’t take much thinking really; he knows it’s gotta be done, because he saw for himself that Sam was really ready to die. That heartbreaking “So?” from Sam at the church still echoed in his mind on an unstoppable grim repeat. But Dean knows there’s something he’s missing, the reason why Sam’s so ready to die, that still doesn’t make sense. After everything, he thought they were finally on the same page. But after what Sam said yesterday, they’re farther apart than ever. He finishes off the sauce, assembles the lasagna and gets it into the oven, going over what he needs to say to Sam to try and make things better. Or at least understand a little better what Sam thinks is really the problem. It beats talking about their conversation from last night, because he’s not sure he ever wants to know where that came from.

“Sam, you in here somewhere?” Dean hollers, coming up the stairs from the kitchen.

Sam calls back quietly, sounding a little surprised, but it’s the first thing they’ve said to each other today. “Yeah, down in the war room.”

“Hey, uh, just heard from Garth,” Dean says, standing across the room, not sure if he’s welcome to be in Sam’s space quite yet. Sam’s still holding onto the book he’s had his nose buried in, knuckles going white around the pen he’s holding in his other hand.

Sam drops the book and the pen onto the table. “Yeah? He really called you?”

Dean nods, starting to walk a little closer. God, how he hates having to tiptoe around Sam and the emotional minefield between them. “Yep. Wanted to thank us for helping his family and leaving them be.”

Sam’s eyes go a little soft, probably because he’s thinking about one of the few good things to happen lately. “Huh, how ‘bout that. At least one hunter gets to be out of the life and most of the way happy, even if he had to become a werewolf to do it. I’m glad for him.”

Relieved to see Sam’s reaction so far, Dean takes the last few steps and sits down across the table from Sam. “Me too. Uh, so, he asked me something about that hunt we all did down in Missouri last year, the one with the Confederate spectre hooked up to the cursed penny, you remember?”

Sam looks at Dean for more than a few beats, like he’s considering ignoring the question entirely, then he answers in a clipped, near-sarcastic voice, “Of course, you almost shot me, Dean. Kinda hard to forget.”

Pushing past the usual responses to any of Sam’s sarcasm, Dean shoulders on into the fray. “Well, he reminded me of the stuff I said to you, when the spectre was using me.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says with an eerie flatness that matches the stillness of his body and the non-expression on his face.

Feeling himself flailing inside, he wants to reach across the table and slap his brother to get him to at least react or dramatically stomp off and slam some doors. Instead, Dean takes a short breath and answers with a calmness he does not feel, but an insistence that he damned well does. “Uh huh? Well, we never really talked about it. And he thought we should.”

Sam leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, mouth set in a flat line, and asks with exasperation, “What is this? You’re taking advice from Garth now?”

“Hey, he had a point - we don’t have many people to talk to, and the stuff I said to you under that thing’s influence was really awful.”

It’s a slight movement, but Dean doesn’t miss it. Sam’s arms tighten in on himself, like he’s having to squeeze a little harder to hold himself together. “Yeah, it was. So?”

The ‘So?’ isn’t nearly as heartbreaking this time around, but the echo of that one in the church still stirs Dean’s protective instincts. “So? So, I remember it, and that afterwards you said you thought I meant all of what I said. And I was mad and I didn’t follow it up with you. But I didn’t, Sam, I didn’t mean it at all.”

Sam reacts with a not-quite bitchface, and a visible struggle to not roll his eyes. This is progress, thinks Dean, but then Sam’s voice slays him more than any eye roll ever could when he says with complete and final certainty, “Yeah, you did.”

“How can you say that?” Dean bursts out with a vehemence he feels down to his toes; how can Sam not know this? Have they not been living the same life together all this time? Dean slams his fists onto the table, opening his hands towards Sam like a beggar who’s offering up his last morsel.

Focusing on Dean’s open hands lying on the table between them, Sam breathes deeply a few times before he answers, “Because you said almost the same stuff right before you left me alone with Crowley to do the third Trial, Dean. Almost the exact same shitty list.”

“What?” Dean asks, stomach sinking as he remembers that day, - that fucked-up day, wasting time chasing after angels when he should have been there with Sam.

Sam scoots his chair forward, and leans on the table with his arms crossed in front of him, meeting Dean’s eyes, like he needs to see his reaction. “I had to confess, remember? As part of the ritual? And you offered up a whole bunch of helpful suggestions. All of which were the same things you said when the spectre had you. So tell me, Dean, what exactly did you not you mean?”

Staring at Sam, Dean gets lost for a second in seeing his brother’s hurt pouring off of him; he’s not hiding it for once, and all Dean wants to do is make it stop. The kid deserves a break at some point. The only thing he has left to give is the honest truth, since Sam wouldn’t accept a hug at this point. He wishes he was touching Sam somewhere, so that the truth could make it through the conduit of their bodies like it usually does. “I didn’t mean the stuff I said about all those things being your choices. Because they weren’t, and I know that. I swear, Sammy, I know that, okay? And the reason I said them to you when you were looking for something to confess, well, it was because I know they’re the things you beat yourself up about. Haven’t ever forgiven yourself for, even though you shouldn’t really blame yourself for any of them. Believe me, I know that kinda self-blame bullshit when I see it.”

Sam pauses for a few moments, absorbing Dean’s answer, looks like he wants to get up and walk away. But Dean sees him push himself physically into the seat of the chair, like he’s making himself stay. Sam finally answers, “True, you would. I guess I get it, but I was really surprised that stuff poured out of you so easily like that. It seemed like you had a list all ready to go for the spectre to grab onto. ‘Here’s the shit Sam’s done to me that I say I’ve forgiven him for, but I really haven’t.’”

Shifting in his seat, uncomfortable with all the raw truth slinging across the table from his brother, Dean straightens up and flexes his hands on the table, still open, pointing towards Sam. “I have, though. That’s the thing, it was like it scooped me out, all my memories and stuff, and it threw everything at you, - all the old shit mixed in with the new. I swear I am telling you the truth here, I do not hold any of that stuff against you anymore. If I’ve said I forgive you, I really have, Sammy.”

Sam laughs sarcastically and rolls his eyes. He leans forward and spits the words at Dean across the table. “But what about the crap about leaving you to rot in Purgatory for a girl, and Benny being a better brother than I ever was and not ever letting you down?”

The vehemence of Sam’s words feel like a physical push, so Dean falls back against his chair and pulls his hands in to fall in his lap. “Well, honestly, I still don’t get the while I was in Purgatory thing; you didn’t ever really tell me what the deal was with that. And as far as Benny goes, God, how do I say this? He was my brother-in-arms, like we’d been in war for a year, - day in day out, constantly fighting everything side by side.”

“Like we used to,” Sam answers in that same flat tone, sounding even more broken now.

“Yeah. But it was different than that, more… I don’t know, stripped down, basic. I’ve got all this history with you, and a lot has happened. We’re more complicated. Our entire lives have been twisted up in one big can of worms. But in Purgatory with him, it was cut and dried, black and white, easy in a way. Pure.”

“And I’m sure as hell not easy. Or pure,” Sam laughs across the table into Dean’s surprised face. He’s not sure if Sam’s laughing at himself being pure or easy.

Dean looks down at his hands resting in his lap, picturing that killing tool he held all that time, fighting at Benny’s side. He still misses the thing and knows he can’t explain this any better to his brother. What he can do is try and fix this with Sam, to somehow stop that horrible, broken laughter that doesn’t even sound like him. “That’s, oh c’mon that’s not what I said. You are easy. Stop laughing, not that kind of easy. See, I know you, better than anyone, and I don’t always agree with your choices at first, but I get you. And you get me, you’re the only one that ever has. Benny was a better substitute for you than I deserved.”

Sam throws his hands up in sudden frustration. “Oh would you cut it out, of course you deserved him. You deserved some damn help, Dean. I mean you basically had just saved the world again, remember?”

“Yeah, of course I remember,” Dean says, eyes coming up to meet Sam’s when he reminds him about the world saving that they’re always doing.

Sam leans forward in his seat, forearms resting on top of his book on the table. Hands twisting together where Dean can see his anxiety given form. He sees Sam take a big breath like he’s readying to yell at the top of his lungs, but all that comes out is a quiet voice that doesn’t want to be heard. “I’m glad you had him though. That you had someone there to rely on. To get you out and back here to me. And I can’t explain about what happened while you were gone other than I thought you were dead. And I fell apart. It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth. I wasn’t myself. I was just pretending.”

“Pretending?” Dean asks, leaning forward so he can be sure to catch each of his brother’s quiet words.

Sam’s head dips further towards his chest, voice at a near whisper. “That I could make it without you. And then you came back and you were so mad at me, and I didn’t have any big reason to give you. Nothing that woulda counted anyways. I didn’t leave you there to rot. Dean, I didn’t know you were even alive to be there. And I didn’t choose Amelia over saving you. She saved me.”

“She did? How?” Dean asks with a true note of surprise, he had no clue about any of this. Amelia had loomed large in his imagination, as some perfect future Sam had chosen for his new life without Dean.

Sam clears his throat and sucks in another deep breath. He clenches his hands together on the table, knuckles going white, then blows all the air out in a rush along with his words. “Yeah, when I hit that dog? It wasn’t an accident. I was driving towards a cliff.”

Eyes riveted on Sam’s hands, they’re clenched so tightly as if they’re the only thing holding him at the table, Dean holds up a hand and asks, “Hold on, you were what? Trying to kill yourself?”

Sam finally looks up, eyes meeting Dean’s briefly, then flicking off to stare into one of the corners. “Not consciously, but yeah, from what I remember, I’d kinda given up on everything. Nothing made sense or mattered. Because you were gone. I just couldn’t do it by myself anymore. There wasn’t a point. But I was drinking, I hit Riot, and that led me to Amelia, and she gave me enough reason to stick around.”

“And then I came back and yelled at you for months,” Dean says, heart sinking further than he’d known it could go. So much of it comes back to this misunderstanding. He starts kicking himself mentally for not pushing the issue and asking Sam last year.

Sam nods and finally releases his hands, flexing the fingers several times, watching the redness flow back to normal. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Dean shakes his head at his own stupidity. “No wonder.”

“No wonder what?” Sam asks, looking up at Dean like he’s mad about Dean’s comment.

Now that Sam’s finally looking at him, Dean tries to connect, pull him in and hold his attention. Sam has always listened best when their eyes are locked together. “Well, I didn’t understand what you meant by ‘So?’ in the church. Now I think maybe I get it. You really did believe all that stuff you were saying about letting me down and not trusting you.”

“Yeah, I meant it. It wasn’t just little-brother whining, I couldn’t get it across to you what you were asking me to do, what I’d be giving up. Not just closing the Gate, but proving myself to you,” Sam answers, pointing one long finger across the expanse of the table between them. He’s aiming it right at Dean’s heart.

Dean half-smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t gotta prove yourself to me Sammy.”

“Apparently I do. Still do. Always will have to,” Sam shrugs, withdrawing his pointing finger to run it along the edge of his book.

Dean shifts in his seat, feeling the urge to get up from the table, but forcing himself to stay in this, no matter how hard it gets hearing all this from his brother. “Well you can think that if you want, and maybe it’s just being brothers or something. But I don’t think you have a thing to prove to me or anyone else Sam. You talk about me saving the world by goin’ to Purgatory, well what the heck did you do when you jumped in the Cage?”

“It’s not about us being even on world-saving or some shit like that. It was about you trusting me to get the damn job done,” Sam says, a little louder, more force behind the words, pointing again at Dean on the ‘you’ and at himself on the ‘me.’

Dean focuses on the pointing finger, eyes lifting up to Sam’s once he figures out how to respond. His own hands rest on the table surface and he stretches them out towards Sam, not exactly reaching to touch him, but just to feel closer again. Talking about this stuff without touching is so much harder. “I did trust you though, I knew you were going to get the job done. That’s why I had to stop you, because I found out finishing the Trials would mean you dying and I knew I couldn’t deal with that. I knew we had other options for once, thanks to all this.” Dean gestures around the big room, meaning their inheritance of all the Men of Letter’s knowledge.

“Yeah, I know. But the price being me dying wasn’t a big surprise, Dean. I’d kinda worked that out already. But what was actually a surprise was that you’d want to stop me,” Sam says, and closes his eyes after he finishes, like he can’t look to see his brother’s response.

Dean stops what he was about to answer from coming out of his lips, withdraws his hands from their closeness to Sam and pulls back into himself. He looks up at the furthest corner of the ceiling, refusing to meet Sam’s eyes. He slowly rubs one hand over his heart as if he’s soothing a bruise deep inside. After several deep breaths he finally lowers his eyes to Sam’s which are open and wide with some mixture of emotions he can’t identify. “And when I was in your mind, when Gadreel showed me how you were talking to Death. That was what you were thinking about. Why you were choosing to die?”

Sam nods slowly. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Even after the stuff I said to you in the church, to get you to stop that last Trial. What, you didn’t believe me?” Dean asks, starting to get a little heated because he feels so misunderstood, and so lost at sea without Sam’s usual easy understanding as his anchor.

Sam nods again, and leans all the way back in his seat, hands dropping to his lap. “I did. I do. I guess. It was just all of a sudden, like I said it was a surprise. After months of hearing the opposite from you. It didn’t magically all make sense and balance out immediately.”

“And you still feel like that, now?” Dean asks, leaning forward to make up for the space Sam’s made between them. Why is this table so damn wide anyways?

“Well, what you said in the church, it turned out not to really be true,” Sam says slowly, as if he’s being patient in reading to a pre-schooler.

Dean makes an irritated face at Sam’s question, more than annoyed at his slow patience. “What?”

Sam sits up straight in his chair, and scoots it in as close as it will go to the edge of the table. He looks straight across the space dividing them, his face beginning to go dark with anger. “Dean, you saw me making that choice, to go with Death. And you still let that angel possess me, and now Kevin’s dead. You should have just let me finish the third trial. At least the damn demons would be locked up.”

Dean leans over the table as far as he can and still stay seated, examining the anger on Sam’s face, trying to figure out where it’s coming from and where it’s aimed. Dean’s never sure if Sam’s angrier at him or himself. He tries to not ramp up to meet Sam’s anger, to stay the calm one for once, to get them through this conversation. “Is this the whole ‘my life isn’t worth more than anyone else’s’ thing?”

Sam rolls his eyes to the ceiling overhead and answers, “Yes, because it’s true.”

Dean waits a few beats until Sam finally looks at him again. He shakes his head firmly. “No, it isn’t. Sammy, you are worth more than anyone in this whole sorry world.”

“According to who?” Sam asks, putting both hands up in question.

Dean sits up straight, proud to have maybe figured this out. He points a thumb at his chest. “Me. And it’s not because I’m selfish, or that I can’t be alone, or whatever bullshit you want to say again. You are worth everything to me. And that used to count for something.”

“It does count for something, of course it does,” Sam insists, then pauses. He looks up with a half-smile. “It’s good to …uh, hear it, you know, out loud. But can you see why I’m mad, though?”

“Yeah, of course I do. But I had to choose, split second, you livin’ and maybe bein’ mad at me forever or you dyin’. And I’m always gonna choose you livin’, no matter what, you know that.”

“But an angel, Dean! Of all things, you let an angel inside me,” Sam cries out, hitting himself in the chest with both hands, then clasping them together on the table with a thud.

“And a demon too,” Dean says, in what he knows immediately was a very poor choice of an attempted joke. He cringes to hear Sam’s response before he’s even finished.

Sam flings his arms wide open and laughs. Sounding sarcastic and angry once again. “What a party, huh? Hey, Sam’s wide open, let’s all go hang out! Why didn’t you invite more people, or come on in yourself?”

Dean flinches in the face of that response, then puts up both hands, pressing them forward in a stopping motion towards Sam. “Listen. I know it was a terrible solution. I do. I know that bein’ possessed by anything is pretty much your worst case scenario. And I’m sorry that I didn’t have another way of helping you. But Sam, c’mon, after what we said to each other in that church, how could I have done anything else if there was even the smallest chance of it workin’?”

Sam shakes his head several times, makes a sound like he’s growling in frustration. He leans towards his brother again, making the distance between them seem much smaller with the restrained vehemence in his words. “Dean, it wasn’t your choice to make. That’s what you don’t get. You overrode my choice to go with Death.”

“But Sam, it wasn’t the only choice that you made! When I was there, in your head, I asked you to trust me, to trust in the plan that I had. That’s the choice that you made, Sam. And you chose to believe me. You chose me. Again. And that’s what I’m holdin’ on to at this point. Because that’s what we do, we choose each other.” Dean slumps back into his chair, he feels so drained at this point. Like he doesn’t have anything else to offer to Sam. All this conversation suddenly feels so pointless if Sam doesn’t understand.

Sam’s silent for a while, seeming to digest what Dean’s just said. He nods to himself like he’s made a decision. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. That I chose to trust you.”

Hearing the note of acceptance in Sam’s voice, sensing that that was maybe a breakthrough, Dean sits up straight again. “I wasn’t sure you were going to, but you did.”

“You also said ‘there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you’.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. It was true then and it’s still true now,” Dean says, not willing to clarify that it was the angel that pulled it out of his mind to say. The feeling is all his, but being able to say it wasn’t anything he’d ever been brave enough to admit to anyone out loud.

Sam’s eyes are roaming all over Dean’s face, like he’s a new puzzle to be figured out. “Dean, that was pretty much the only thing you could have said to make me not go with Death.”

Dean nods in acknowledgement, it’s absolutely true. “I know. ‘S why I said it.”

“And that’s what Gadreel used as consent. When I chose to believe in your plan. You said something like that because you knew what it would do to me, what it would mean to even hear you say that. That’s what hurts the most. That’s probably the most honest thing you’ve ever said to me and it was all a lie.”

“But it wasn’t Sam, it wasn’t a lie. How can you even say that? Yes, I was at the end of my rope when I said it, but it’s what I believe, and what I know to be true. There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you. There, I said it again,” Dean says, feeling like he’s throwing down the gauntlet on the mostly empty table between them. “You’re right, it is the truest thing I’ve ever told you. Maybe you don’t want it to be true for me for some reason. Maybe you don’t want that burden or whatever.”

“I don’t want it to be like that for you. I don’t know if I can take that weight anymore, being everything for you. I’m not whole enough to do it, not after my mind’s been messed with so many times now. And I guess I want to believe that you’re whole enough to want to be alive even without me.”

“Well, maybe you don’t want me to be the way I am, and I guess that’s fine, whatever. I’ll work on not putting so much on you.”

“No, stop.” Sam puts up a hand in the stop position. “That’s not what I meant, Dean. We need to work on this together. Which we’re doing right now, having this conversation. And I’m telling you that I’m having issues with my mind because of all the possessions or head trauma or everything else, which you probably can’t do much about at this point.”

“That’s why it was so hard all this time not telling you what was going on with Gadreel. I knew the more time that went by, the worse it would be. I could see how much it was messin’ up your head. and by the time I figured out he wasn’t who he said he was, it was too late.”

“Too late for Kevin,” Sam says.

Dean’s eyes drift over to the spot where Kevin had been killed, remembering having to find something to cover up those horrible, burned-out eyes. “Yeah.”

Sam looks over in the same spot. “That’s my new nightmare by the way, thanks for that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean says, trailing off as the memories of standing by Kevin’s hunters pyre all alone assault him.

“Still wish you’d just let me go. World would be better off still having a prophet.”

Dean shrugs, because they both know this is just a ‘what if?’ game at this point. “Coulda woulda shoulda. Remember way back when I got zapped and almost died, and you found me that faith healer?”

Sam tilts his head a little, like he’s wondering if Dean’s trying to change the subject or just going off on a tangent. “Of course, that was the first time we saw a reaper.”

“Well, I remember that I said I wished you’d just let me die. If it had been left up to me, that’s what I would have chosen at the time,” Dean says, shifting in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the prickly thought of Sam ever actually making that choice.

Sam leans forward in his chair, eyes taking in Dean’s sudden discomfort. “But I didn’t know that Darla or those other people would die.”

Dean’s eyes flash with sudden intensity, he knows he’s got this point in their debate. “Yeah, and I didn’t know Kevin would either, did I? But let me ask you this, would you still have done it? Dragged us off to find the faith healer, even if you’d known that some random dude was gonna eat it at the swimmin’ pool?”

Sam twists his hands together on the table in front of him for a few seconds. Then he flattens them out against the table pressing down until his fingertips go white. “How do I say this? Back then, yes, definitely. And I think we had this argument, and you were mad at me, tellin’ me how you didn’t count any more than anyone else. But now, after we’ve done this so many times, it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do anymore. Not when there’s another choice.”

“What, choosing to just give up and die?” Dean asks, throwing his hands up in a tossing off something unimportant gesture. This can’t be what Sam really thinks now, it just can’t.

Sam nods slowly, as if he wants to ensure that Dean can’t possibly miss it. “Yes.”

Reaching out across the table towards Sam with an open hand, Dean asks, “What about the light at the end of the tunnel stuff you were tellin’ me about back when we were arguing about who was doin’ the trials? That all just b.s.?”

“No, of course not,” Sam answers, staring at Dean’s outstretched hand.

“And not that long ago, you were saying that for the first time in forever you were happy with your life,” Dean persists, emphasizing his point by moving his hand towards Sam like he can push the truth close enough for Sam to grab onto.

Sam’s eyes flash with sudden anger. “Well, that was before I knew all of this shit that you did, Dean!”

Dean holds both hands up in a stopping motion, holding back the tide of Sam’s anger rolling towards him across the table. “Yeah, I know, but what’s really different?”

“Um, I don’t know, how about all that supposed happiness was based on you lying to me for months?”

“Not really though, - think about it, Sammy, c’mon, you were having fun working cases with me again. We were back in the rhythm, back in the game together, kickin’ ass, gettin’ used to having this place to come home to,” Dean says, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s begging, even though that’s what it feels like. He concentrates on keeping his hands open on the table between them, Sam will hopefully see the body language for what it is. Take this truth from me, what we have together, it is a good thing that we both need.

“It wasn’t all you trying to keep me distracted so I wouldn’t notice the angel I had on board?”

“What? No, I was just enjoying it, enjoying just plain hunting with you,” Dean says, truly perplexed at Sam’s line of questioning here. Wasn’t it as good for Sam like he’d said it was? Or was that Gadreel talking?

“Enjoying what, watching me walk around like a dumbass, not knowing?” Sam asks, with a true note of hurt coloring his words.

Dean can hear that hurt and finally gets it, Sam’s thinking that he somehow enjoyed putting one over on him. “No! Having you around, alive. Even though I was worried about the angel being inside you and lying to you about it; just you being here, being with me again like we’re supposed to be was good. Really good.”

“As long as you ignore the angel stuff, I guess it was,” Sam finally admits.

“Thanks,” Dean says, smiling widely.

Sam tilts his head a little, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell Dean is smiling about. “Thanks for what?”

“For sayin’ that. I’m glad you agree that it was good for awhile there. Listen, I’m not apologizing for doin’ what I did. And I know you’re not expecting that, because you know me. I’m sorry for what happened to Kevin, of course I am. I had to burn his body without you, it was worse than with Bobby or Dad even, ‘cause it was all my fault. And I’ll never forgive myself for it.” Dean stops because he can’t go on for a moment, overcome with the emotion of remembering Kevin and all the crushing guilt he’ll never be without. He takes a deep breath and looks up at Sam. “But I do apologize for lying to you. I should have known Gadreel was up to no good the second he told me I had to keep you in the dark about everything.”

“Dean,” Sam says, sounding like he’s winding up for a scolding.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

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Dean shakes his head, hands going limp on the table. He’s hoping he can explain what he means before Sam dismisses it. “No, I should have. But damn. I don’t think I could have done anything differently, even with knowing. Maybe that makes me weak or selfish, but that’s just how I am. I’m just not cut out to do this without you.”

“I know. I’m not either. It’s just like what happened with me when you were in Purgatory. But Dean, what I really want us to get out of this whole thing is that we need to stop doing these crazy things to save each other,” Sam says, gesturing with one hand back and forth between them.

“Why? You tired of me already?” Dean asks with sarcasm, beginning to pull back into himself, self-protection instincts kicking in hearing Sam talk about changing the way they live their lives.

Sam reaches out across the table and grabs both of Dean’s wrists, preventing him from pulling back. “No. And it’s not that I don’t love you the same as you love me or anything stupid like that. It’s just, we’ve gotta grow up at some point, don’t we? Be more mature, learn how to cope, do things differently, stop all the collateral damage.”

Dean looks down at Sam’s hands on him, finally. The connection between their bodies does what it always has for him, grounds him, resets everything to where it can make sense. But Sam’s words aren’t fitting like they usually do. “Huh. I don’t know about that. If you ask me, maturity is overrated. Especially if it boils down to choosing suicide. Tell you what. Next time it’s your chance to decide whether to save me, you do whatever you want. I’m not making any promises, just no, hell no. I haven’t spent my whole life keeping you alive just to let you go when there’s a chance.”

They look at each other for a long moment, Sam squeezes Dean’s wrists gently and slowly lets them go. “It’s not up to you though.”

Missing the contact already, feeling like Sam’s pushing him away as well as letting him go, Dean pulls his hands back and puts one over his heart. “Well, maybe I think it is.”

“I don’t want you to though. It’s too much, Dean, knowing that. It’s just too much.”

Dean’s hand comes off his heart and slaps down onto the table, surprising them both with the noise in this huge, quiet room. Dean feels like his heart is shrinking, not even bothering to break anymore. “Too bad. I always thought it was a two-way street kinda thing. But just because it ain’t anymore because you’re too grown up or whatever doesn’t mean I’m changing anytime soon.”

“It is though. A two-way street thing. And I know I’m fooling myself thinking it can ever change. I mean, I can think it through, and say it like I mean it, but when it comes down to it? To you living or dying, and me having some chance to save you? Yeah, I’m the same as you. I’m the one that was gonna drink that immortality potion with you, remember?” Sam asks.

Sam’s confession has sunk in quickly, the words an instant healing balm on his sore heart. He remembers the possibility of immortality and how quick Sam was to jump in and offer to take it with him, how that had made him feel happy and guilty all at once. “Yeah, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” comes the all-too-familiar correction, said with the usual somewhat annoyed yet still fond near-bitchface.

“Oh, we’re back to this now? What, you wanna be a grown up so bad I can’t call you Sammy anymore?” Dean asks, holding back on smiling until he sees that Sam is kidding. He better be kidding.

Sam smiles, breathing in deeply in what looks like relief to be back on familiar ground. Then his face wrinkles up in a frown. “What’s that smell? Is something burning?”

“Oh shit! No!” Dean yelps, leaping up from the table.

**SAM**

Sam shakes his head, laughing at his brother running off towards the kitchen. He gets up slowly, stretching his arms up wide and yawning. That was a longer talk than they’ve had in years, but it was satisfying, getting it all out on the table. And wonder of wonders, they were actually listening to each other. They actually stayed in the conversation together, neither of them running away from it, until the burning of whatever dinner Dean was making. It feels like their foundering ship might be beginning to right itself.

What feels a little like hope starts to swell in his heart, but then Sam’s stomach growls at him, reminding him that he’d skipped lunch; he follows the sounds of Dean swearing and banging pots and pans around.

“Guess we’re going out for dinner,” Dean says, gesturing at the pan full of blackened goop still smoking in the sink.

“Aww, and it was lasagna too, wasn’t it?” Sam complains in a near whine, looking closely to see if it makes Dean laugh.

Dean laughs at the familiar whine. “Tell you what, I spotted a new Italian place over in Phillipsburg the other day, it’s not that long of a drive. Let’s go there tonight. My treat.”

“Okay, let me go get cleaned up, I’m all gross after sitting around reading all day. Meet you back here in ten?”

“Sounds good,” Dean says, turning back to deal with the lasagna disaster in the sink.

Sam rubs at the steamed-up mirror after his quick shower and looks at his face for a while, searching for the thing that’s been missing. It’s not the absence of the angel, or the smidgen of grace left behind, it’s the certainty he’d always visibly shown. The certainty of knowing that Dean was his and he was Dean’s. The absence of it, that it ever being a question is a problem. That’s what’s missing. It isn’t quite back, not all the way, but he can see a trace of it now at the edges of his mouth. That little relaxation of the muscles behind the ones that form his dimples. He smiles at the remembrance of all the times Dean had said something about his dimples. Or kissed them for that matter. Maybe that’s a possibility again, maybe not, but at least he still has the memory of it. And that’s something to be thankful for.

“Sammy? You ready? Done getting beautiful yet?” Dean calls down the stairway.

“Almost done curling my hair!” Sam yells in reply, walking up the staircase laughing. But he stops partway up when he sees Dean. Dean is standing by the only window in the room, looking out at the last of the sunset. Sunlight has always loved his brother, but it’s been a while since Sam’s allowed himself to look. So now he does. He traces the outline of Dean’s spiky hair, the glow limning the edge of his profile, touching the nape of his neck. Sam sighs, wishing for it all to be fixed right now so he could go kiss the taste of that sunlight gilding his brother’s skin. But it’s not fixed, not yet anyways.

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Their drive to the restaurant starts out pretty quiet, only some crackly rock station playing on the radio station with songs they’ve heard a million times. Dean interrupts the quiet mood after a few minutes go by. “Hey, uh, Sam. Can I ask you somethin’?”

Sam turns from looking out the passenger side window to search his brother’s face for clues as to what kind of question it’s going to be. “Sure of course.”

Dean clears his throat, Sam guesses the hesitation is because all this talking today has already been way too much for his brother. So it must be important if Dean’s still bent on talking. “So last night, when you said you wouldn’t save me, what did you mean?”

Crinkling his forehead in concentration, Sam remembers back to last night’s short and awful conversation. All his words had been calculated to cause the most damage as possible. But that’s not what I said to him, I wouldn’t have gone so far. “I did not say that I wouldn’t save you. You said you’d do it all the same all over again. I said under the same circumstances, I wouldn’t have done it. I meant that I would not have tricked you into taking an angel onboard.”

“So you did mean you’d really just choose to let me die. Awesome. Good to know,” Dean grits out through his clenched jaw. He turns his attention back to the dark road ahead.

Sam stares at his brother, shocked by this dismissal and deliberate misinterpretation of what he said. “Dean, you’ve never been possessed before. You don’t know how awful it is, whether it’s a demon or an angel. And I wouldn’t do that to anyone, especially you. No matter how much I need you here with me, I just wouldn’t be able to put you through that.”

Dean seems to chew on that for a bit. “So, it’s the possession part of the equation that’s the deal-breaker for you, not the life-saving part?”

Sam’s eyebrows go up in surprise. How does Dean possibly not know this? Is he that clueless about all that I’ve gone through being possessed all these times? Apparently he is, Sam thinks and stalls with a sigh before coming up with a way to explain. “Yeah, of course, you idiot. It’s hard to explain, but it’s been too many times now walking around in my body without being in control. And you being the control freak you are, who knows how you’d ever be able to deal. Let me put it this way: I’ve died, and I’ve been possessed, and I’d rather die again. No question. So I wouldn’t be able to do that to you.”

“I didn’t understand that,” Dean says, quickly glancing over at Sam and that back at the dark road ahead.

Sam turns in his seat, bringing his left leg bent up under him, facing Dean as much as he can in the confines of the front seat. “Really? I figured you would have known by now.”

“We just never…I guess we never talked about it much, all those times it happened to you. I mean, obviously I knew you didn’t like it or anything, but I didn’t really get it,” Dean says, and Sam can hear the honesty in his voice, that answers the question of how Dean could have done something like this to him, because he truly didn’t know how Sam felt about possession.

Dean not knowing though, doesn’t let him off the hook for his actions of course, but it helps Sam understand how his brother had been able to let that angel take him over. “Huh, now that I think about it, I guess you’re right. I didn’t think you’d wanna know how bad it was, since you couldn’t do anything about it after the fact.”

“I wish…Well, I wish I’d have asked, so I would’ve known how you felt. I might have been able to make a different choice, knowing that. At least I would have tried,” Dean says, looking over at Sam for a few seconds more than he really should, considering he's the one that’s driving.

“Really?” Sam asks in surprise. The thought of Dean actually deciding to let him go is so foreign, it is a piece of information that does not fit into the shape of his brother.

“Of course, Sammy. I mean, you’re right - a lot of what I did was for selfish reasons, I own up to that. And honestly I probably wouldn’t have just let you go. But I at least would have risked it and tried to tell you sooner.” Dean stares straight ahead, like he’s thinking about how hard that would have been to to even consider.

That makes a little more sense to Sam, but the fact that Dean is seeming to take his feelings on board about all this is helping him get over the hurt of it all. Especially about what happened to Kevin. The guilt of that will always be there, for both of them. “That might have made a difference, at least to Kevin. But I kind of doubt it. I didn’t tell you this, but it took a lot for me to throw Gadreel out. If Crowley hadn’t been there, I don’t think I could have done it.”

“I hate owing that slimy bastard for anything,” Dean says.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam agrees, noticing how clenched Dean’s jaw is while he’s just thinking about Crowley.

No one says anything for a while, the song on the radio going off and into a noisy commercial. Dean reaches over and turns down the volume. “So what is it like?”

“What is what like?” Sam asks, because there are a whole lot of things Dean could be asking about. Given all they’ve talked about already today, it could be anything.

Dean answers very quickly, like he’s afraid of asking the specific question. “Being possessed.”

“Which? By angel or demon?” Sam asks, in what he hopes is a matter-of-fact sort of voice, because he really doesn’t want to talk about either one if he’s honest. But Dean seems to need to know this now, and Sam needs to give it to him, to help him really understand what he’s done.

“Either, both, whatever you wanna tell me,” Dean says, clenching the steering wheel tightly for a moment, then letting his right hand fall into his lap.

Sam focuses on Dean’s hands lying against his thigh, the well-worn fingers, the spot where his silver ring used to be no longer dented in. Being near the physicality of Dean always helps him stay focused and in the moment, no doubt out of some sort of self-protective instinct. “Well, I’d say the demon is easier to take. They’re not as powerful, there’s not as much of them to contain, - not even Crowley, although he’s definitely a different level from Meg.”

Dean considers Sam’s answer for a while, then asks, “You mean, like it makes you feel… full?”

Sam resists at first, because answering this question means actually thinking about it, exactly how awful it is, and he’s tempted to hold back on his description, white-wash it to save Dean the extra worry and guilt. But he needs to know, since he’ll understand what he meant by ‘same circumstances I wouldn’t save you’, that seems to be the sticking point. And Sam doesn’t want to be stuck anymore. “Yeah, but not in a belly-full kind of way. More like that feeling’s in your head, and everywhere inside you all at once. It pushes you to the side so that you’re squished up in a corner not able to move. But you can still see and hear, if they let you that is. But you see everything through this kind of angel vision too, so there’s so much more information coming in, that your brain can’t handle it all.”

“Sounds awful,” Dean says, and then seems to cut himself off from adding anything else. Sam thinks, ‘Because what else could anyone say to that? I’m sorry wouldn’t really do much, but acknowledging that yes, it was indeed awful is enough for what I need now.’

“Yeah it is awful. The worst part was not being able to tell you. And that you weren’t even able to tell it’s wasn’t me. Even though I was in there screaming at you to notice,” Sam says, regretting the telling of it, because he knows how hard it will be for Dean to know this, but he has to.

Dean shakes his head and blinks his eyes rapidly, which tells Sam that he’s trying to hold back tears. “They really have access to everything then? All your memories and feelings?”

“All of it, it’s like you can feel them going through your mental filing cabinet. They see everything you’ve hidden away, even from yourself, they bring it out and wave it in your face,” Sam says, remembering how they’ve all tried to use the twisted-up relationship he has with Dean against him, as if it was some big nasty surprise. How shocked they’d been when they saw how deep his feelings for Dean went, all the way deep down to where they couldn’t budge them.

The lights of Phillipsburg finally begin to flicker into view and Dean slows down at the city limits. The cops are a little more up on things than in Lebanon, and they don’t want to get on anyone’s radar with a speeding ticket. “Was there a big difference between Gadreel and Lucifer like you said there was between Crowley and Meg?”

“Oh yeah, big time. Mainly it was the intensity of the light, Lucifer was beyond what we can see as light, and it was beautiful and terrifying all at once. Before we were in the Cage he was talking to me a lot, letting me see everything that was happening. But it was hard to grasp it all as being real, seeing it through this curtain of light. With Gadreel, he was in the background most of the time. Except for when he’d pop out and save you from demons or bring Charlie or Cas back to life. I didn’t see that stuff happen real-time, I only got the memory of it once I kicked him out,” Sam says, turning his body away and shifting his legs so that both feet are back on the floor. Out of habit he presses on the scar on the heel of his hand, the one that always made Lucifer flicker and fade.

“Anything else?” Dean asks.

Sam sighs, because the telling of this is painful, just thinking about it is. “When he had me locked up inside though, towards the end when he was worried you’d tell me. That was super weird. I was working this whole case about cheerleaders or something. It all seemed so real. Most of the time though, I could sense something was off, not just the lost time, or the strange stuff happening, but it was like having someone just over your shoulder. But it was inside. He mostly felt comforting or helpful though.”

Dean pulls up to the restaurant parking lot and shuts off the engine. “Thanks for telling me this stuff Sam. It’s, well…it gives me a lot to think about.”

“So would you still have done it all the same?” Sam asks, even though he’s dreading the answer. If Dean can’t or won’t change his mind about this, he’s not sure what that means for them going forward.

Dean’s head bows a little down towards his chest, like the thought of what Sam’s asking is too heavy to bear. He looks up after a long pause, meeting Sam’s eyes with a slight nod. “Let me think about it for a while, I’ll get back to you, ‘kay?”

Heart sinking with Dean’s answer, Sam looks away and grimaces. “I thought it would change your mind, knowing how I felt.”

Dean’s hand lands on Sam’s shoulder for a brief glancing touch, just to get Sam’s attention, pull him back in to the conversation. “It does, - I mean, it adds to what I would have considered while I was making the decision in the moment back in your hospital room. But still, after everything we’d just gone through in that church, I guess I want to believe that you still wanted a chance to stick around.”

Sam glances down at his shoulder briefly, where Dean’s hand had just been, the brief contact enough of a reminder of what’s at stake, it’s enough to help him past the hurt and mistrust that is still achingly present. “I guess I did really want to stick around. Since I chose your plan. Even if I didn’t really know what I was choosing.”

Dean’s hand ends up back on Sam’s shoulder where it is briefly squeezed, then his hand falls back down onto what feels like the acres of car seat between them. “Yeah, I didn’t really know either. I’m really sorry, though, that it had to be possession. And I promise you I won’t ever do it again.”

“Do what?” Sam asks.

“Let anything possess you,” Dean says, looking back out the front window into the distance where there are several cars jockeying for position in the crowded parking lot.

“Even if it means I die?” Sam asks, closely watching Dean’s reaction to this question. It’s the one that this whole mess between them revolves around.

Dean flinches a bit at the word ‘die’ and then looks steadily at him for what feels like forever to Sam. There’s so much going on in Dean’s eyes, he can see the fear and the hurt and yes still the love. Dean finally answers,“Yeah, even that.”

Sam’s eyes widen in surprise, and he jerks back against the car door, needing to put more space between them because there’s so much potential for more hurt and mistrust from yet another promise made that will of course be broken.“Dean, you can’t even say it. Don’t make me promises like this.”

“I…shit. Fine.” Dean rearranges himself so he’s facing Sam and puts up his right hand, palm out. “I, Dean Winchester, hereby promise that I will never allow anything or anyone to possess Samuel Winchester, even at the cost of his life, and I hereby promise I understand the reverse to be true. There. Happy?”

The full impact of what Dean’s just sworn to him takes a second to sink in, because this is a major change, and it could indicate that there’s a chance for them after all. Sam struggles to fight down the insane hope that wells up in his chest like a wild thing that’s been waiting to wind it’s way around deep into his heart again. “I don’t know what to…god, Dean, did you really mean that?”

Dean sits back a little and clenches both hands together, as if he’s struggling to keep them from touching Sam yet again. “Of course. I wouldn’t joke about something like this. I’m pretty sure you still know me better than that right?”

Seeing his brother’s twisting, anxious hands does something to Sam. He reaches over and places one of his on top of Dean’s, stilling the incessant motion. That brings him closer to Dean, so he can see him more clearly in the dim light of the parking lot. “I do. And I know I owe you an apology too.”

“For what?” Dean asks, his hands practically vibrating under Sam’s, like they would fly off on their own if Sam wasn’t holding them down.

“For saying that you only saved me for yourself last night. I knew it wasn’t true when I said it. I was just mad, and I was trying to hurt you the best way I knew how.”

“It sure worked,” Dean admits looking away and pulling his hands out from under Sam’s.

Sam feels the absence of Dean’s touch as more than just the physical, their connection runs so deep it affects them on all the levels there are to a person, and he needs Dean there to function. His brother has given him so much in this conversation that he knows he needs to reciprocate in a way that Dean will accept. Sam puts his right hand up, palm facing towards Dean and clears his throat.“I know, and I’m sorry. So, I want to take it back. I, Samuel Winchester, hereby acknowledge that Dean Winchester saved me just for me as well as for himself. There, that good enough for ya?”

**DEAN**

“Yeah Sammy, ‘s good.” Dean just sits there in the seat, tracing his eyes over and over his brother’s familiar beloved face, unable to say a thing more. He knows it’s too soon to believe that all this talking might have actually worked, that Garth might have been right. But damn, all he wants is sitting right there smiling at him and he doesn’t want to say something that might screw it all back up again.

Sam just looks back at Dean, his smile growing wider the longer the mutual staring goes on. Finally he breaks the silence with the rumbling of his stomach. “Let’s go in and see if they’ve got lasagna.”

Dean shakes his head like he’s coming out of a trance, which he sort of is, if he’s honest with himself. Lost in his brother’s beautiful face, the honest love clearly visible is so surprising to see after all this time that he couldn’t stop soaking it in. “Yeah, let’s go see if theirs is less crispy.”

He gets out of the car and takes the time to compose himself so that he can get through this dinner, - sitting across a table from Sam without making goo-goo eyes at him the whole time. Because that’s a part of the conversation he’s definitely not up for at this point in the festivities.

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s lower back to steer him in through the door, and leaves it there as they talk to the waiter about getting a table. It stays there right up until they arrive at their table. And Dean doesn’t miss the warmth or the pressure or anything. Except yeah, he really does. That spot on his skin feels like it’s glowing a little hotter than the rest of him. As if the physical connection they’d always shared in the past is reigniting just at that touch. He rubs at the spot as he sits down.

“Hey, is your back okay, Dean?” Sam asks, sounding a little concerned.

Of course he noticed, Sam notices everything. “Yeah, just a little sore from the pishtaco experience.”

“Oh, right. I’m sore from leading that damn yoga class. I think I strained a hamstring,” Sam says, rubbing at his leg under the table.

“Really? And here you were claiming to be a yoga expert,” Dean says, a little concerned that Sam might be injured, but more interested in teasing him in the easy familiarity he’s enjoying between them.

Sam looks up at the yoga reference, his face going all apologetic and soft. “By the way, I’m sorry I said that thing, about dating someone bendy. That was uncool.”

Dean is surprised by this apology from his brother, reminded again about Lisa and their infamous ‘bendy weekend’ so long ago. “Yeah it was. Apology accepted. And, uh… you’re not really that weird around girls. I was just being a jerk.”

“Oh, I wanted to say about that case, thanks for agreeing about letting Maritza go,” Sam says.

“We’re making a habit of it, - first Garth and now her,” Dean says, thinking about how much his definition of what a monster is over the years.

“Well, there’s the whole shades of grey thing,” Sam suggests.

“Even if there are fifty shades, I’m not always interested in the whole story,” Dean says, admitting that he’s like that instead of automatically protesting to keep the conversation going instead of letting it deteriorate into the usual mess they end up in.

“When we’re judge, jury, and executioner, we have think about this kind of stuff,” Sam says.

Dean shifts the menu to one hand and points with the other at Sam. “See, that’s why I keep you around.”

“What? So you don’t have to deal with it?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs and opens his menu, looking to see if lasagna is listed. “Yeah, it’s a lot of work having a conscience.”

“Well, I remember what it’s like not having one. And I prefer this way, thanks very much,” Sam says, as if he wants to re-hash his time being soul-less.

“Hey, …can we talk about something else?” Dean asks, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction Sam’s taking their talk. They never manage to agree on all the things Sam’s soul-less self did, Dean forgiving everything, and Sam blaming himself for everything.

Sam looks like he stops himself from winding up for a big statement and shoots Dean a concerned look across the white cloth-covered table.“Too many heavy conversations today for you, huh?”

Seeing that Sam is sensitive to what he needs, as usual at the expense of what he might want, Dean knows he needs to at least acknowledge what they’ve accomplished together today by sticking with this epic conversation. “Yeah, I guess. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we’ve, uh, cleared some stuff up. But I need a break.”

Sam breaks out in the sunniest grin Dean’s seen in ages, and he has no idea why but he doesn’t even care, because Sam’s smiling. Plus he’s also shut up.

Their waiter finally comes and they order two lasagnas and two salads, and a bottle of wine. What the hell, they’re enjoying a night off. They’re getting spoiled by living the high life in the bunker, too used to drinking the good stuff. That’s when Dean notices they’re at a pretty nice restaurant. Like white table cloths, candles, small vase of flowers on each table. It’s a restaurant where you’d take a date. And maybe, in a way, that’s exactly what this night has turned out to be.

He decides right then and there to keep talking to Sam if that’s what it takes to get another night like this. He smiles back at Sam and reaches for his hand that’s clasping and unclasping the fancy folded linen napkin in what looks like nervousness. Interlacing their fingers together, he squeezes briefly and then release his hand when the waiter arrives to pour their wine. He lets Sam do the wine-tasting thing since he’s always cared more about wine than Dean ever has. And then they’re alone again with their full glasses. Sam raises his in a toast, and Dean’s heart kind of sinks, because he has no idea what Sam will say. Whatever it is, here it comes.

Sam meets his eyes and clinks their glasses together. “To always being brothers no matter what.”

With a grin, Dean adds, “To always being friends too.”

They’re interrupted from more potential sappiness by the arrival of their salads and the overly-involved pepper grinding ritual.

“I always just wanna grab the thing from the waiter and do it myself,” Dean whispers as the waiter leaves.

Sam chuckles and whispers back. “Thanks for restraining yourself and not embarrassing me.”

Dean finishing chewing his first big bite of salad. “You’re welcome. And thanks for making me order this salad, it’s really good. Even if it’s a little fishy.”

“Anchovies will do that,” Sam says with his sly little-brother grin.

“What? Where?” Dean asks, poking through his salad and peering at it closely.

Sam shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Dean can see the delight written all over his smiling face. “In the dressing, that’s one of the ingredients for a good Caesar salad.”

Dean takes another bite and chew thoroughly, putting the fork down and pointing first at the salad, then at Sam. “Well, I guess I like it in salad, but don’t be getting any ideas buddy, not on my pizza. No way.”

Sam nods and ducks his head to hide another smile. “Got it.”

They eat for a while in silence and both finish their salads at the same time and reach for the wineglass. Dean takes a big sip and smacks his lips a little at the intense flavor. “Geeze, didja think we’d ever be here again?”

Sam finishes sipping at his wine. “What do you mean, in this restaurant? We’ve never been here.”

Dean gestures with his hand around at the restaurant and then circling between just the two of them. “No, not here, I mean together like this.”

“Not done with the heavy conversations after all, huh?” Sam says, with half a smirk that Dean sees Sam quickly tries to hide.

“It’s not that. Screw you, man. I’m just glad we can sit down and eat together and not be icing each other out.” Dean rolls his eyes and picks up his wineglass again, focusing on the sloshing of the red wine against the side of the glass.

Sam clinks his glass to Dean’s, interrupting his grumping. “Sorry, I’m sorry. To answer your question, yes. I did think we’d always end up here eventually. I mean we always do end up back together. Sometimes it takes longer than it should, but yeah, I always hope and expect we get back here.”

“You didn’t ever give up on us, huh?” Dean asks.

“Nah, never have, not all the way. Not ever since, you know, it started,” Sam answers easily.

“Really?” Dean asks, surprised to hear this honest confession when he’d expected Sam to just scoff at the question.

“Why, did you ever give up on us? I guess so, if you’re saying that,” Sam answers his own question and then goes quiet and still. He draws in on himself with an amazing speed.

Dean reaches across the table and puts his hand under Sam’s chin as it’s sinking down towards his chest, raising it up until Sam has to meet his eyes. “Hey, cut it out, man. I get a chance to answer something like that, don’t I?”

Sam shakes off Dean’s hand, sitting back in his seat so Dean can’t reach him again. He looks closed off, even though his arms aren’t crossed over his chest. “Whatever. Go ahead.”

“Sammy, don’t give me that whatever shit. C’mon, I’ve had some dark moments, times I thought you were lost, or I was. There were times when I doubted whether there’d still be a you, much less a you and me. But you’ve always proven me wrong. Always.”

Before Sam has a chance to answer, the waiter interrupts them. “Are you gentlemen finished with your salads?”

Dean glances down at both of their empty plates. “Uh, yeah, yes we are. Thanks.”

“Your entrees will be right out.”

As soon as he leaves their table, Dean leans across and whispers, “Their lasagna better not be burned that’s all I can say.”


	3. Chapter 3

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

Sam can’t help a small smile, and his shoulders loosen just a little. But the easy air between them has gone sharp again. He remains silent though, not saying anything, but still chewing over what Dean had said before the waiter’s interruption. His internal conversation is one Sam’s all too familiar with; self-doubt being first, especially about how much the relationship thing actually means to Dean. It’s always been such a surprise that Dean would even want to be with him in the first place, much less want to stay with him. There’s such a tangle of feelings about it, and he can’t sort it out here in this place while they’re waiting on the next course to arrive. He shrugs and finally looks up to meet Dean’s worried face. 

“You okay?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I will be. Just thinking,” Sam says, offering him a placating smile.

Luckily the waiter arrives before the silence gets too awkward. “Here we are, two lasagnas. Can I get you gentlemen anything else now?”

“Nope, we’re good, thanks,” Sam answers the waiter with a smile he doesn’t mean. They both dig in without another word or hesitation, all this angsty discussion has made them even hungrier than usual. Dean starts making his food porn yummy noises, and Sam kicks his ankle under the table.

“What? It’s really good,” Dean asks, sounding surprised to be kicked in the midst of enjoying his meal.

“Yeah, it is. But you sound like you’re two seconds away from coming in your pants over there,” Sam says.

“You would know,” Dean says, and looks up like he wishes he could take it back.

That stops Sam in his tracks, because, yeah. He does know what Dean’s sex noises sound like. It’s been a while, but it sure isn’t something he’s ever going to forget. And it’s definitely something he wants to hear again. “Yeah I do, and cut it out. You know what those noises do to me.”

“Oh, yeah. Uh, sorry,” Dean says. Sam finds himself shocked to actually believe that Dean is sorry about teasing him about anything related to their moribund sex life.

“No sweat. Hey, you know what?” Sam asks.

“What?” Dean answers with the expected question.

“I think that your lasagna was going to be better,” Sam says, voice filled with admiration for his brother’s kitchen prowess.

“It’s all Garth’s fault that we’ll never know,” Dean says with a shy smile. And Sam smiles to see his brother glowing a little at Sam’s praise of his cooking. He’s so impressed with Dean trying to cook anything beyond burgers and eggs.

But Sam doesn’t say anything to Dean’s comment, just makes a confused face and keeps chewing his mouthful of lasagna. Dean laughs a little and answers his brother’s unasked question. “He’s the one that told me to talk to you, remember?”

Sam finishes chewing and has a swallow of wine. “Oh, yeah. Remind me to send him a fruit basket.”

“Better make that a meat basket,” Dean quips with a smile, picturing Garth’s face, drooling at the sight of a basket full of choice cuts of meat.

They both laugh at Dean’s joke but go quiet after that, concentrating on the good food, thinking about the conversations. Heavy as they’ve been, it was important that they did it. Sam feels like he’s standing in the middle of a dense tangled jungle in a clearing that he’s hacked out with a dull machete. But he can just see Dean through the underbrush now.

“Now that was good. You save any room for dessert?” Dean asks, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach.

“No, not a bit. Let me guess, you did,” Sam answers, matching Dean’s casual lean and letting himself enjoy the normalcy of the Dining-With-Dean-Experience. It’s been a lifetime of this routine, and he’s still just as charmed and ensnared as he was when he was a kid.

“Well, it would be rude not to sample their cannoli, wouldn’t it?” Dean asks.

Sam of course expected some sort of dessert ordering happening, and why not cannoli? Dean deserves something good and sweet. “Knock yourself out.”

The waiter reappears to clear and take their dessert orders.

“I’ll have a coffee, with milk. He’ll have a cannoli, and a double shot of espresso,” Sam says, looking at Dean while he answers the waiter. The waiter smirks a little and makes a quick exit.

“So now you’re ordering for me all of a sudden?” Dean asks in a voice that sounds like he’s struggling to control himself from either anger or seduction, Sam can’t really tell.

“Thought you liked it,” Sam says, going with teasing and light. Because this is what they do with each other.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand in the tell-tale gesture of unease. “Just wasn’t expecting it is all.”

“Why, because it’s something I used to do, before?” Sam asks, as gently as he can manage. This is an extremely touchy subject, for both of them. A minefield that must be crossed to reach each other or they’ll probably blow up on the sidelines from the tension of waiting for someone to take the first step. Sam isn’t sure if he wants to be the one to take that step, and he didn’t mean to tease Dean. Not consciously at least.

“Yeah. And it’s not like that, at least not yet, right?” Dean says, raw hope twisting the edge of his voice.

“Right,” Sam answers, sounding a little sad even to himself.

The silence stretches out awkwardly between them, the waiter’s interruption welcome when he brings their order.

Sam watches Dean dig in to his dessert while he sips his coffee, thinking about first steps and whose turn it is this time. “How’s your cannoli?”

“Good, want a bite?” Dean asks.

“Sure,” Sam answers, leaning forward, mouth opening slightly in invitation.

Dean’s eyes go dark at the sight; he spoons a bit into Sam’s waiting mouth, watching him chew and swallow without a word.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Sam practically purrs, meeting Dean’s eyes. He sees the effect of his words, and clears his throat, because that’s not what he really meant to do. There’s a time for teasing, and this isn’t it, at least not yet. He’s not going to be the one risking it first. He tries to put his walls back up, so that Dean can’t see everything he’s feeling.

Sam can see Dean’s disappointment flash across his face before he’s able to hide it, and his heart sinks along with Dean’s. They’re both wanting a break-through here tonight, in-sync even in their impatience. “Hang in there with me, Dean, we’ll get there.” Dean doesn’t answer, just nods and smiles a little sadly, hiding his eyes with the napkin as he wipes his face off dramatically.

**DEAN**

The waiter brings the check and they settle up quickly, but as they leave, Sam’s hand is back in place on the small of Dean’s back, just a little pressure guiding him through the restaurant. Dean wants to shake him off, tell him to cut it out and quit teasing, but he takes it for what it is. Sam is reaching out across the divide still separating them. At least he’s touching him. Improvements have been made. All this damn talking and spewing of emotions has been worth something.

The drive back to the bunker is almost as quiet as the drive to the restaurant at first; both of the brothers in their own worlds, rehashing all of the things shared between them today.

“Thanks for this today,” Sam finally says, breaking the silence.

“For what? Dinner? Yeah, it was pretty good,” Dean says, flicking a look over to gauge Sam’s mood.

“It was good. But I meant the talking, the sticking with it even though it was hard to talk about that stuff,” Sam says, waving one hand around quickly to encompass everything.

“I should be thanking you,” Dean says, thinking about all the thank-you’s he owes Sam, one of those things they just don’t say to each other until it’s too late. Kind of like those three little words, the ones Sam referred to earlier. Hearing the word love get thrown around had made Dean’s heart leap up and cheer. But, he knows he’s getting ahead of things, it’s one step at a time here to work this out. So going with thank-you’s seems like a good way to start.

“For what?” Sam asks.

“Giving me a million second chances,” Dean answers.

Sam doesn’t answer for a bit, just lets out a couple of sighs that sound painful. “Just how I roll man, you know that.”

“Yeah I do, and I’m lucky you’re like that. Most people would have left me a long time ago,” Dean says, thinking about that possibility is one of his nightmares, one of the things he tortured himself with while waiting for Sam to find out about Gadreel. Just the fact that they’re here together, and talking, makes him feel more grateful than he can remember being in a long time.

“Probably. I keep tellin’ you, you’re stuck with me,” Sam says with a hearty firmness.

Dean looks over at him and sees that he means it. That’s a relief, but who knows how long that’ll last this time? He decides to go with go with something positive in answer though. “I know, don’t stop, seems like I need all the reminders that I can get.”

“Dean, why’d we let it get this bad?” Sam asks a little hesitantly.

“Stupidity, stubbornness, I guess, least from my end,” Dean shrugs, barely holding back what he really wants to say. About how it’s all his fault, but he’s scared that Sam might agree this time instead of talking him out of blaming himself like he usually does.

“Sounds right from me too. But like I said before, hang in there, - I’m not saying no or not ever, just …no for right now,” Sam says.

The words just hang there for a moment, tender and strong at the same time. And Dean falls for him all over again. His brother is a fucking saint, and Dean knows he will never ever be worthy of his love, but he’s going to fight like hell to get it all back anyways. “Well, you let me know, I’ve held back for a long time now,”

“Hey, I was wondering, why didn’t you push me on starting up things between us again? After I got better from the Trials?” Sam asks.

Dean doesn’t answer, can’t answer. He just parks the car and gets out, starts walking back up the stairs from the garage, he pauses in the hallway between the bedrooms only because Sam grabs his shoulder to stop him.

“Wait, so all this time, since the Trials, that was because of Gadreel? You didn’t want to fool around because of him being onboard?” Sam asks, still holding onto Dean’s shoulder.

Dean sighs, shoulders bowing in defeat, “Yeah. It didn’t seem right.”

Sam lifts his hand off of Dean’s shoulder and puts both of them up in a questioning gesture. “Why? Because he would have seen us? He was in my head, he already knew everything about you and me.”

“No, not that. I was worried he’d take over. You know, while we were, uh, engaged,” Dean mumbles, not able to look Sam in the eye or tell a lie to cover his ass. He’s embarrassed to have to explain this, and he’s completely unsure how Sam’s going to take the truth.

“Oh, so it’s okay for me to have an angel riding around inside of me, just not when you’re riding me too. Got it,” Sam says with a whole lot of sarcasm he’s apparently been saving up for just this occasion.

“So you’re not over this then?” Dean asks, surprised at Sam’s sarcastic outburst.

“What? Which part of it Dean? The angel possession and the lying about it for months, I’m in the process of getting over. But the part where you abandoned me there on that pier with Cas? We still need to work on that.”

“But I thought … hold on, you said I should go. So I did what you asked. I figured Cas’d fix you. He did, right?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking. You really never talked to him about what we did, huh? Yeah, you should probably ask him about that some time. I bet you’d be real interested. But no, you were too busy screwing off with Crowley and getting the god damned Mark of Cain.”

“I wasn’t thinking right, Sam. It seemed like the only thing I could do to fix things,” Dean says, slumping against the wall. He needs the support to get through this, where is he going to find the strength to really tell Sam what the Mark of Cain means.

Sam takes a step towards Dean, towering over him. “Fix things? How is taking on a demonic mark you know absolutely nothing about, at the urging of Crowley, of all people, going to end up ever being a good thing?”

Dean looks up at his brother looming over him like some avenging angel set to smote him for his stupidity. “Well shit Sam, what the hell was I supposed to do?”

Sam’s head falls forward and he looks at the floor, taking in some deep breathes. Then he puts both hands on Dean’s shoulders to hold him in place. “Stay. Work it out with me. Let me be mad. Let me get over it. With you around. Not taking off on your own just to end up marked by a demon. God, Dean, wasn’t one of us enough?”

“It’s my turn, I guess,” Dean says, shrugging to get Sam’s hands off of him so that he step away from all this, it’s too much, he feels like he’s drowning in all of Sam’s honesty, expectations, forgiveness and disappointments.

Sam pushes his shoulders hard against the wall and then lets go. “You are such an idiot, I swear! Your turn, shit, it wasn’t ever supposed to be your turn again.”

Dean straightens up and knocks Sam’s hands off, leaning up to get closer to Sam’s face. He’s had enough of the damn looming. “What do you mean?”

Stepping backwards until he hits the wall, Sam just looks at him. He sags there, all his weight resting on the cool cement brick. Finally he says something. “Hell Dean. I mean Hell. And how you were when you came back. How I thought I’d never see the real you again. And how proud I was that you fought your way back to yourself. Now it’s going to … I don’t know, just all go to shit again, or worse, and I can’t take seeing it happen to you. Not when it’s some stupid penance or something, when all you had to do was talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, on the edge of bursting out in tears or begging or something equally embarrassing. Instead he presses himself back into the wall, letting it take the force he wants to use to rip himself apart for hurting his brother so much.

They look at each other, each braced up against their wall, the space of the hallways between them like the widest impossible gulf. Dean wonders if they’ll ever be able to get through this, even if he built a raft of sorries, it still wouldn’t be enough to get to Sam.

“I know you are. But what are you really sorry for?” Sam asks.

The question stops Dean for a moment, and he knows he needs to answer this one right. It might be the only thing stopping them from a reunion. But he can’t come up with an answer fast enough, there’s too much to dig through, too many meanings, so he stalls with a lame attempt at a joke. “What happens if I give you the wrong answer here?”

Sam raises up one hand in a stop gesture. “Stop. Just stop. If you’re not going to be serious, then don’t bother answering.”

“I was kidding. Giving myself a chance to think about it.”

“You mean trying to figure out what I want to hear?” Sam asks.

Joking didn’t work, so maybe bald-faced honesty is worth a try. “Yeah, pretty much. Because you’re mad at me, and I don’t want you to be mad anymore.”

“Dean. I’m not mad at you. I swear I’m not. What I am is upset about is that you’re not going to give me a straight answer when I really need one. And you need that answer too by the way, that’s why I’m saying all this. And I’m scared and worried about the Mark and how it’s going to affect you.”

Dean let Sam’s words wash over him, feeling the worry and love and desperation that Sam’s expressing fill him up enough to be able to answer in the face of his greatest fear. He can only just barely breathe at first, just thinking about it made his heart hurt. He hears Sam shuffle a little across from him, like he’s going to give up and lock himself back up in his room. Sam needs to know it, the truth, no matter how much it will worry him or make him mad. After all these second chances, Dean tells himself, maybe I’ve finally learned my lesson. “He killed the person he loved most. Abaddon made him.”

“Who, Cain?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, her name was Collette, and she was his true love or something. And she wanted him to stop killing, and he tried to, but Abaddon took her over. He tried to kill her, but just ended up killing Collette instead,” Dean says, suddenly glad to have been unburdened of holding this story to himself.

“Wow. And that story doesn’t worry you at all?” Sam asks, his sarcasm not covering how worried he is. Dean can see that even from across the hallway.

“It’s not going to happen, Sam,” Dean says, hoping that Sam will buy his reassurance, even though this is epic, biblical-scale stuff they’re involved in again.

“What, you’re not going to kill me? Isn’t there something about him killing his brother too?” Sam asks, sounding like he’s on the edge of yelling again.

“Yeah. So? That’s him, and I’m me. I’m not killing anyone that doesn’t deserve it,” Dean says, sinking back into the wall, glad that it’s there behind him. He does notice that Sam picked up instantly on the ‘killing who he loves most’ thing and assumed that it would be him. At least there’s no question of that he comforts himself.

“Isn’t that what this thing does? Make it seem like everyone needs to be killed?” Sam asks, shifting against the wall as if he’s trying to hold himself there and not cross the distance between them.

“I don’t know,” Dean answers. The honest truth is, he hasn’t thought about it too much, it hasn’t really affected him yet and everything with Sam seemed much more important.

“Not yet,” Sam says.

“Well, so far I’m okay. All I want to do is kill Abaddon, and Gadreel if we can find him.”

“What about Crowley?” Sam asks.

“What about him?” Dean asks instead of answering, because he doesn’t want to think too closely about Crowley’s involvement in all this. The realization that he’s been manipulated into this Mark thing is definitely something he’s trying to not look at too hard.

“Where is he on your kill list? What’s his involvement in this Mark thing, besides wanting you to kill Abaddon so he can keep ruling Hell?”

“Well, I don’t know if he has a plan past finding the weapon I’m supposed to use on her. It’s like a matched set or something along with the Mark. I don’t really know. Cain said it’s supposed to be at the bottom of the deepest ocean, so who knows how long that’ll take,” Dean says, scratching at the Mark. It always seems so itchy when he talks or thinks about it.

When Sam sees Dean scratching he steps forward and grabs Dean’s arm, bringing it up so he can see it in the overhead light. “So that thing just sits there on your arm. Does it make you feel different?”

Dean is almost distracted by Sam’s warm hand encircling his forearm, the skin on skin touch is something he feels starved for after all these months. But he makes himself answer. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“You know what we need to do right?” Sam asks, dropping Dean’s arm and stepping back.

“What? Oh no, c’mon,” Dean complains in a near-whine that he knows is uncalled for since it’s his issue they’ll be researching. At least they’ll be doing it together.

“Early tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you in the library and we’ll get started. There’s got to be something in this place that will help us get some intel on that thing. We can’t be stuck not knowing as much as Crowley does about it.”

“Okay, you’re right. But you’re making breakfast,” Dean says, pointing at Sam as he stands up from his position against the wall.

“Fine, rolled oats it is. Good night Dean,” Sam says, turning towards his room and stepping away.

“Night, Sammy. Thanks for, uh, not being mad anymore,” Dean says, figuring one last thanks will be a good way to end this intense and confusing day. At least they’re not going to bed mad for the first time in several weeks. He wishes he could fix it all overnight somehow, and make it better for them both. He really wishes he could just hug his brother, but he’s not sure Sam even wants to hug him again.

**SAM**

“Thanks for finally talking to me,” Sam says, stopping halfway through his door. He turns to watch Dean’s shoulders slump as he walks towards his own room. Sam doesn’t want this day of near reconciliation to end like this, not with Dean looking so defeated, so he takes a couple of steps in Dean’s direction.

Dean turns around at the sound, surprised to see Sam in his space. Before Dean can say anything, Sam gathers him into a hug. Dean doesn’t hug back at first, too shocked to respond, but then his arms come up through Sam’s to ring around his neck, pulling him down so he can tuck his head into Sam’s neck. They stand there in the dim hallway, midway between their rooms, just holding each other close, neither wanting to let go. Finally Sam straightens up, breaking Dean’s hold on him. He smiles down at Dean, with just a touch of sad regret, then takes a few steps back to his room. Closing the door with a quiet snick.

**DEAN**

At least it wasn’t a slam this time, Dean thinks, going into his room. His body still tingles from the after-effects of hugging Sam for the first time in way too long. It seemed like a more-than-brothers hug, but maybe a postponing, sort of not quite ready for much else kind of hug. Which seems okay, considering. It’s a heck of a lot better than what he had before, which was worse than nothing.

He gets undressed and slips into his bed, feeling how cold it is, noticing how it only smells like him. He remembers back a few months ago when he had Sam in here, wrapped in all the blankets because he was suffering from the Trials. He’d held Sam all night, made him drink water, brought him soup, until Sam waved him off and then staggered around the bunker pretending he was all better. He feels bad for missing that closeness, because Sam was in such pain then, but the empty bed mocks him now with how much he’s lost.

He goes over the conversations they had today. There was so much he didn’t understand, probably still doesn’t get just how bad being possessed really is, and why Sam hadn’t wanted to keep on living. He shakes his head thinking about it, how he’d unthinkingly pushed Sam into that hopeless state last year. How he’d almost lost him for good because of it. The tears come then, hot, stinging salt running down his cheeks into his ears. He lies there and cries for what he’s learned about the darkness in his brother that he didn’t know was there. That same darkness that’s always been inside him, and Sam’s always helped him cope with it.

Sam’s question about what he’s really sorry for comes back to the forefront of his mind as his tears taper off. What’s he sorry for? Everything. But that’s not the right answer. Sam said he thought Dean needed this answer too. Why?

He gets up, puts on his dead-guy robe, and sits at his desk, where he turns on the light and gently touches the picture of his mom. He whispers brokenly, “Mom, you gotta help me out with this.” He stares into her smiling face, then pulls a notebook out of the drawer and picks up a pen and starts writing, a long list, of what he’s sorry for. First it’s just bullet points, a page or two filled up with quick sentences. Then he starts writing some paragraphs, explaining it all to himself. He writes until his hand is so cramped that he can barely hold the pen.

Finally he’s done; it’s all out there, all the bile spewed onto the page. He wishes there was a fireplace in his room so he could immediately burn the thing. Instead he switches off the desk lamp and climbs back into bed, feeling a little lighter from having let out all the heavy baggage onto the page. His last thought before he drifts off is that it might help him explain it all to Sam tomorrow.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

The next morning, Sam wakes Dean up by banging on one of the pots in the kitchen. Dean shuffles in and sits down at his usual spot and digs in to his bowl of oatmeal without complaint after downing the cup of black coffee Sam hands to him.

Sam watches Dean eat, beginning to smile like he’s watching the cutest cat video on YouTube. “I am surprised you’re eating this without any comments.”

Dean looks up at him a little blearily, his bed-head is outstanding this morning. “Well, I’m not really awake enough yet. And it’s not so bad.”

“Yeah?” Sam asks, hoping that maybe he’s made something that Dean might like that is also good for him. It’s such a mother-hen thought that Sam laughs at himself but Dean does the same kind of thing to him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d much rather be having bacon and eggs, but this is okay sometimes too, ‘specially if you’re the one having to make it,” Dean answers along with a full open-mouthed smile coated in rolled oats.

Sam shakes his head at the sight of Dean eating oatmeal with such gusto. “You are getting way too flexible in your old age.”

“Shut up you. I am not old,” Dean protests.

“You are. And it’s pretty cool that I get to tease you about it. You always said you didn’t expect to see thirty, remember?” Sam asks, remembering all those times Dean had gotten fatalistic about their chances of surviving their lives as hunters.

“Oh, how little we knew back then,” Dean says, adding in a small chuckle.

Sam smiles to hear his brother’s amusement and stands up from the table. “So, onto some research? I’ve got a thermos of coffee to take in there with us.”

“Well since there’s coffee, I say lead the way, Poindexter,” Dean says, standing up and stretching his arms up towards the kitchen ceiling. Sam studiously avoids looking at his stomach, knowing what that will do to him, he needs to spend the energy on helping Dean, not lusting after him.

They take up their positions at adjoining library tables, stacks of file folders, leather-bound folios, and faded manuscripts ready and waiting to be searched through.

Dean looks at all the material on the table with a resigned smile. “You sure got your research on early this morning.”

Sam doesn’t answer that, because he knows they’ve got to get down to work. “So I’ve got you set up with the more recent stuff, it’s easier on the old eyes, and hopefully not too many weird languages. Keep an eye out for anything that mentions owth, miracles performed by Moses, or signs seen in the stars.”

“Owth? What, is that spelled o-w-t-h?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, it’s how Mark is translated in Hebrew. It’s mentioned a bunch of times in the Hebrew Scriptures. The Mark is supposed to be a protection from God, so that Cain could not be harmed,” Sam says, getting settled in the seat next to Dean’s.

“That’s why I’m so invincible lately?” Dean asks.

“I guess so. Pretty good side effect. Too many other downsides though. And that’s what we’ve gotta figure out. Hey, could you write out for me what you remember Cain and Crowley saying about the Mark? Since I wasn’t there, I don’t have any of that beyond what you’ve told me about the Collette thing.”

“Sure, no problem. There wasn’t much. I was too busy fighting off a house full of demons to ask too many questions. But I’ll get down what I remember.”

“A whole house full, huh? Cain must have been impressed,” Sam says.

“Yeah, I guess he was. Said I was worthy of the Mark,” Dean says.

Sam hears a little bit too much pride in that remark, and it bothers him how much Dean needs that validation. “Just what you needed to hear at that point, I guess.”

“Hey, if you’re gonna get all crappy about it, I’m outta here,” Dean says, slapping his hands on the table like he’s about to get up and leave.

Sam holds his hands out, shaking them in a no gesture until he sees Dean relax. “No, no. I’m sorry. Please, stay, help me figure this out. We need to do this. I need your help, Dean.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stay. Just leave me alone for a while, let me write this down.”

“’kay, you got it,” Sam says, watching closely as Dean sits back down and curls over his notebook, writing like he’s carving the words into the pad. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

“No, I am, Sam. I thought about it. What you asked me last night,” Dean says without looking up from the notebook.

“I asked you a lot of things,” Sam says. He’s not sure what Dean’s referring to, there were so many questions left unasked and unanswered last night.

“About what I was sorry for. I sat up for a few hours thinking about it, and I wrote it all down. I was just going to make you read it, but now I feel like I need to say it, so you’ll believe me,” Dean says, finally looking up and meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Okay. I’m all ears, go for it,” Sam says, eyes riveted to the sight of his brother’s strength and determination in facing their issues.

**DEAN

Dean turns his chair to face Sam and meets his eyes, holds them like the lifeline they are in this moment and pretty much always. “Just don’t interrupt me.”

Sam nods and doesn’t say anything.

“So, last night, you asked me what I was really sorry for, and after going through a very long list, I’m sure you can imagine a lot of what was on there. Well, it comes down to that I’m most sorry for making this Gadreel thing all about me. When I left you on that pier with Cas, that was the most cowardly thing I think I’ve maybe ever done in my life. Leaving you to recover, and deal with it, without me. Just taking off and running away, because I was scared, Sam. I was really scared about how mad you’d be, and how the guilt I’d been feeling for months now wasn’t ever going to go away, it was only gonna get worse. And I lost sight of you, Sam. I was so focused on how the fallout was gonna affect me, and for that I’m most sorry and I don’t think I can ever forgive myself. I don’t expect you to either, I really don’t.”

“Oh, Dean,” Sam says softly, sounding like he’s breaking into too many pieces to put back together.

“She helped me, Sammy, Mom did. I sat there lookin’ at her picture last night, askin’ her to help me figure this out, because I wanna get right with you, you know? I can’t take this anymore. And I thought about her, and the fights I saw her and Dad have, and I remembered hearing her apologize to him one time. I remember it so clearly, lying under the kitchen table playing with my trucks while they talked. And she’d done the same kind of thing I did, making an issue that was really his thing all about her instead, because she was scared of how mad he’d be. It was something about money. She laid it all out on the table, and he listened to her, and then they were better for a long time. I remembered that last night Sammy, and I thought maybe it’d be worth a try,” Dean says, stopping to get himself under control.

Sam stays silent as he promised he would and nods at Dean to continue.

“So yeah, when Cain said I was worthy, it was exactly what I needed to hear. Because I was feeling worthy of just about zero, still am really. That’s why I jumped at taking the Mark on. It was something I could do, one of my screw-ups I could maybe fix. I’m not tryin’ to justify it or anything, just explain it. So that’s where I am, and why I’ve got this thing. And I’m seriously just grateful that you’re even still here and tryin’ to help figure it out,” Dean finishes and blows out a relieved breath.

He didn’t think he could get through it and now that he has, he’s not sure what Sam’s reaction will be. There’s all kinds of ways that what he said could make things worse, especially if it isn’t the answer Sam was looking for. But it was honest, and that’s what Sam’s always saying he wants. He searches Sam’s face for clues to see if his words have meant anything good and all he sees is Sam broken open with all his emotions on display


	4. Chapter 4

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Sam waits several long beats after Dean finishes speaking, and finally can’t help asking, “Are you done? I don’t want to interrupt you, if you’re not finished.”

Dean shrugs and looks down at his hands in his lap. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Of course I’m still here, Dean. And of course I want to help you figure this thing out. And now I know you understand all this a little more. I mean it, you did the work sorting yourself out. I’m impressed that you manned up and actually told me. It’s…well it’s hard to explain, but you said you wanted to get right with me, and I’d like to say that you have.”

“Really?” Dean looks up, surprise written all over his face, along with relief and hope.

“What, you thought it would involve hair shirts and dry crusts of bread and water for meals?” Sam asks.

“No, just, I thought you’d want more from me,” Dean says.

“More what? More sorries? More expressions of guilt? Or home-cooked meals? No, what I wanted, what I needed, is what you just gave me, Dean. Honest self-reflection. You figured it out yourself,” Sam says, and he can’t help himself, he reaches out and clasps one hand on Dean’s shoulder, massaging it a little because Dean looks like he’s holding in all the tension in the world as usual.

“So we’re square then? Back to normal? Well normal for us,” Dean asks.

“Yeah, as long as you promise me something,” Sam answers, still holding onto Dean’s shoulder, needing the connection to get his point across.

“Oh, here it comes. What?” Dean asks.

“Promise me you won’t lie about the Mark, no matter how bad it is, or how worried you think it’ll make me. That’s the only way we’re going to get through this. You know that, right?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, Sammy, I do. We keep each other human, right? So yeah, I promise,” Dean says.

“I didn’t do that with the Trials stuff, and I should have, maybe you could have helped somehow. I mean, helped more than you did. But I kept it from you when you deserved the truth. Don’t make my mistake is what I’m saying here,” Sam says, squeezing Dean’s shoulder one last time before moving his hand back to rest on the arm of the chair.

“Got it. Sammy, can I ask you something?” Dean asks.

“Of course, anything,” Sam says, wondering what his brother will come up with after what feels like a huge breakthrough.

“Do you really want to be with me again?” Dean asks.

“I am with you,” Sam answers, being purposely obtuse because he can’t answer that question right now and he doesn’t want to hurt Dean anymore than he has.

“No I mean, like we were before,” Dean persists.

All Sam can do is smile at Dean’s stubbornness in wanting this answered. “Answer is hazy, ask again tomorrow.”

Dean frowns and pokes Sam in the chest with one finger. “Don’t you Magic 8 ball me, mister. I’m serious here.”

“Yes. Definitely, I’d like us to get back there eventually. But I gotta be honest, it’s like I said last night, I need to work up to it,” Sam says. Nobody told him how hard it would be trying to set boundaries with your partner after so many years of pretty much having none at all.

“Trusting me and stuff?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, stuff like that. That a good enough answer for you right now?” Sam asks, hoping that it is, because he can’t go past that quite yet.

“That’ll do, pig,” Dean says with a nod.

Sam laughs, loud and happy. “God, you and your movies, I swear.”

“You love it,” Dean says.

“Back to work you, go forth and find me some Owth,” Sam says, patting Dean’s knee and turning his chair back to face the table. He’s filled with a surprising amount of happiness from this interaction with Dean, suddenly it all seems possible again.

“Yessir,” Dean says with a fake salute. He turns his chair too, although he moves it a little closer to Sam’s, and starts reading again

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

“Okay, so I’ve figured out where I need to go. There’s this Hebrew research library in New York City that is likely to have more of the texts that I need to check out. A lot of their stuff was online, but not everything,” Sam says, stacking up all the books he’s been working with.

“So when’re we leavin’?” Dean asks, looking up from reading a small book with a green fabric cover that he could swear he’s already searched through a couple times.

“Well, I thought I might fly, it’d be faster. And since you don’t read Hebrew very well, you can’t really help researching in the library. What would you do while I was working?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know, go sightseeing or somethin’, hang out in the Big Apple, go check out the Rockettes,” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows. There’s no way he’s letting Sam get out of his sight, and certainly not to take the risk of flying on a plane.

“But it’s only for a couple of days at the most, you really want to drive that far?” Sam asks.

“This library thing mean you’re gonna wear that sweater vest again?” Dean asks, waggling his eyebrows again. Hopefully Sam remembers how hot that sweater vest, professor look gets him.

“Yeah, that’s usually what I’d…” Sam answers, apparently oblivious to what Dean’s reminding him of.

Dean interrupts with a decision he can’t help but make. “Then we’re driving.”

“Really? You like seeing me in that thing enough to drive three thousand miles round trip?” Sam asks.

“That’s not the only reason,” Dean says, hesitating to reopen the subject, it almost feels like they’re talking about stuff too much.

“What else?” Sam asks with that look on his face that Dean knows means he’s going to get an answer one way or another.

“Just... I don’t know. I don’t want to split up when everything is so up in the air,” Dean finally admits. And once the words leave his mouth, he feels better, this telling the truth thing might actually work.

“You mean since we’re talking and working stuff out finally?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says, taking the easy way out and leaving the rest unsaid, at least for now, they’ve got a long time in the car ahead.

“Alright, road trip it is then. I’ve emailed them about getting access at the end of this week, so we should leave as soon as possible,” Sam says.

“I’ll be ready in fifteen,” Dean answers, jumping up to go pack a bag for the trip.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

About ten hours into the drive, not even halfway, Sam’s phone dings with a message received tone. He digs in his pocket and pulls it out to check. “Hey, Aaron Bass is meeting me at the library. Says he knows the head librarian, his grandfather was a friend. So he can get us both into the special collection where I think the manuscripts I need will be.”

“Oh, that’s great, he’s…uh, gonna be helpful, I bet.”

“What’s wrong? I thought you liked Aaron.”

“Yeah, I guess he was okay.”

“Oh no, is this about, what did you call it? Your gay thing?”

“Shit. How do you remember this stuff?”

“It was freakin’ hilarious, that’s why. I am your little brother, remember? Don’t worry Dean, I’m sure he doesn’t have a problem with you.”

“Is his golem gonna be there?”

“Nope. He’s got him stashed somewhere safe now.”

“Good. That thing, guy, whatever, was too freaky.”

“More freaky than Nazi Necromancers?”

“Yeah. Too straight out of a comic book or something, that whole case was freaky.”

“Well, meeting Aaron and finding out about the Judah Initiative connection with the Men of Letters was cool. And it’s already helping us figure out this Mark of Cain thing. Aaron and I have been emailing back and forth about it. He’s the one that pointed me towards the owth stuff.”

Dean raises his shoulders up almost to his ears, like he’s trying to hide. “I’m not saying he’s not gonna be helpful, I’m just, ya know, uncomfortable. He’s not comin’ on to you is he?”

“What, you’re jealous now? Of some guy we met once and haven’t seen in a year?” Sam asks, incredulous that Dean is all of a sudden jealous of Aaron. That can’t be what this is about.

“Do I have a reason to be?” Dean asks, staring straight out the windshield, not even flicking a look over at Sam.

“No, Dean. I am not interested in Aaron, or anyone else for that matter. That should be the least of your worries, dude. What’s this really about?” Sam asks, knowing that this is probably the important thing that Dean is worrying about. Maybe he’ll actually get even more of the truth out of his brother. It seems like they’re on a roll lately as far as that goes.

“’kay, I just feel weird when you get together with someone else that’s so into nerdy stuff like you are. Reminds me of what you probably liked about college, what you’ve been missing out on,” Dean says, now taking a long look at Sam’s reaction.

“Dean, just because I like nerding out on stuff does not mean I’m pining for college days. Far from it. Yeah, I like learning and I did enjoy college a lot because I got to really push myself. But I’d rather be doing this kind of research any day, for stuff that really matters. Like savin’ your ass, for instance,” Sam says, watching Dean to make sure he’s listening this time. It seems like he has to keep reassuring Dean about this college thing, over and over. The impact of his leaving for Stanford all those years ago still showing up in Dean’s hangup.

“Oh, so you’re still interested in that part of me after all, good to know,” Dean drawls.

“To be totally honest, I can’t recall a time I ever wasn’t interested in your ass,” Sam says, leering openly at Dean, hoping to provoke a reaction.

Dean spits out his coffee, all over the steering wheel and the dashboard beyond. “God, warn a guy, wouldja, Sammy.”

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Eventually they pull into New York City, and Dean drops Sam off in front of the library, leaving as soon as he can get away from the awkward conversation with Aaron to go find parking and something to do while Sam’s researching.

After Sam and Aaron have been ensconced in a nice research nook, with a large table and good lights, Aaron finally breaks the companionable silence to ask, “So, uh, Sam, how long have you and your brother been doing this hunting thing together?”

“Me and Dean? Seems like our whole lives, except for when I was at college,” Sam answers, pulling on the white cotton archive gloves.

“Is it hard working that closely with a person you care so much about?” Aaron asks, as they shuffle through the stack of manuscripts.

“No. Well honestly, yeah sometimes. We don’t ever get much of a break from each other. And we worry more about each other than we should. Makes us do dumb things sometimes.”

“I noticed. Like when he threw himself in front of you when we were fighting those Nazi freaks,” Aaron says.

“Yeah, stuff like that. It’s how we get through it though,” Sam says, handing another stack of the slippery folders to Aaron.

Aaron makes some hmming noises as he searches through them. Once he’s done, he puts them on the table, holding one back. “Why was Dean acting so strange when he dropped you off?”

“Oh, you noticed that? Hmmm, well, he’s convinced himself that I’m longing for my college days and would therefore replace him with someone like you,” Sam says.

“Like me?” Aaron asks, a little ashamed of how squeaky his voice suddenly sounds.

“You know, smart, into research. He sees himself as being the opposite of that, even though he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever known,” Sam says.

Aaron closes up the first archive box they’ve searched through, and pulls out the next one. “So would you, ever think of doing that, replacing him?”

“No. Dean’s in the category of irreplaceable. I wouldn’t exist without him, and that’s the god’s honest truth,” Sam says, then pauses in his flipping through the pages, staring off towards the afternoon sun streaming in through the front windows.

Aaron can see he has absolutely no chance with either of these guys, romantic or otherwise, they are two wound-up together, especially for brothers, although maybe that’s a cover story. “Shoot, no chance for me then huh?”

“What? Of partnering up with me on a job? I’d have to say no, Aaron. I haven’t worked with anyone else in a really long time,” Sam says, sounding surprised to have been asked something like this.

“Uh…I’ll just have to find another supernatural geek legacy researcher then,” Aaron replies, trying to come off as cool and nonchalant about being rejected. He can’t help it being attracted to these guys, their approach to this hunting thing, the way they are together, and yeah he’ll admit it, they’re not too tough on the eyes.

“Sorry, we can still work together on this though, right?” Sam asks, looking like he’s worried that the help he needs for his brother will be pulled away.

“Yeah of course Sam, I was just being curious and kinda rude now that I think about it. Just forget I ever mentioned anything,” Aaron says, feeling bad that he even asked. He didn’t mean to make Sam feel bad, he pretty much owes these guys his life after all. That’s not something he’s going to forget just because he’s got an unrequited crush going on.

“Well, if I ever come across anyone that fits the description, I’ll send them your way, okay?” Sam offers.

“Sounds cool Sam, thanks,” Aaron says, grateful for how gracefully Sam handled this awkwardness that he hadn’t meant to cause. The Winchesters are the kind of people that you never forget, and always wonder if you’d be able to last a day with them. It was worth asking instead of wondering the rest of his life.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

“Bye, Aaron, thanks for helping us out, appreciate it,” Dean says, reaching out to shake Aaron’s hand.

Aaron looks up at Dean with wide eyes as his hand is engulfed in Dean’s. “No problem, call me anytime. I mean it. The golem and I are always up for a road trip, if you need us.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You can take him places now?”

Aaron nods with excitement at being able to talk to someone who knows the story of his golem. “Yeah, I got his instruction manual all figured out. He’s actually super helpful.”

“Wow that is good to know. We will keep you guys in mind if we need unstoppable super strength and super smarts in one dynamic duo. ” Dean says to Aaron with a wink. He turns and walks down the aisle of cars in the parking garage, unlocking the Impala and quickly getting in, as if he’s assuming Sam’s following right behind him.

Aaron shakes hands with Sam. “Thanks for being cool Sam.”

“What about?” Sam asks.

“You know, what we talked about before.”

“Oh, about partnering up. Yeah, no big deal, dude.”

“I hope I can find someone like you guys to work with. The way you get shit done without even talking to each other. It’s pretty amazing to see, like something from a movie.”

“Well, uh, thanks I guess. We know we’re lucky we have each other, it makes the work go a lot easier. If you’re gonna do any hunting, you really need a partner,” Sam says.

“Yeah, you guys are lucky. I’d give up the golem to have someone like you guys as my partner,” Aaron says, looking over towards where the Impala is parked.

“Really?” Sam asks.

“No question. Someone that care about you that much, and has your back on the job the way you guys do, pretty much the ideal.”

“Huh, never really thought about it that way. Thanks for the reminder. Thanks for all the help Aaron, keep in touch,” Sam says.

**SAM**

Sam finally gets back in the car, after that longer than expected extra conversation with Aaron at the elevator exit. Dean blows out an annoyed breath and asks, “What was all that b.s.ing about? Took you long enough.”

“It was about you. And you and me. And how he’s madly in love with both of us and insanely jealous of the bond that we share,” Sam says in a teasing voice.

“Shut up. I was just asking,” Dean says, pouting a little.

“No, it pretty much was about that, except for the madly in love part. I was kidding about that. He said he’d give up the golem to have someone like you as his partner. His ideal is someone that would cares about him as much and have his back on the job like you do.”

“Huh, so the whole gay thing wasn’t all in my head after all then,” Dean says.

“Well, except it wasn’t limited to just you. It doesn’t matter, the ‘gay thing’ didn’t really come up. We were talking work partners, you know, hunting partners, not life partners. At least I think we were. Anyways, he only has the golem and is probably kind of lonely.”

“Did he make a move on you Sammy?” Dean asks.

“No, he didn’t. If he was going to, I stopped it before it got started. I don’t think he really figured it all out about us, and I didn’t say anything. Basically I didn’t want to embarrass him, and we needed his help.”

“Little shit. People need to learn to keep their hands off what’s not theirs,” Dean growls, pounding the steering wheel.

“Would you turn the jealousy down a little bit please? That’s not what happened. But get this! We actually found something. I’m pretty sure it’s really going to help, Dean. As soon as I can get it fully translated, we’ll know what the Mark is supposed to do,” Sam says, so excited to share what he’s found out.

“I knew you could find somethin’,” Dean says.

“Oh yeah?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, you always come through in the clutch for stuff like this.”

“I do?”

“I count on it, Sammy. Thanks.”

Sam smiles at hearing his name said like that, when it’s attached to such a compliment. “You’re welcome. You know there’s another way you could express how thankful you are.”

Dean’s eyes go dark at the thoughts that Sam’s suggestion brings up. He pulls Sam across the seat and kisses him thoroughly. After several minutes of mind-blowing kissing, he loses track of how far he’s taking things, parked in a city parking garage of all places. His hands are roaming and trying to get Sam’s slacks open and his sweater vest off at the same time.

Sam reluctantly stops him by holding both of his hands together in his, meeting his eyes with his own eyes wide and wanton with the same heat and desire. “I want our first time to be back at home in our bed.”

“Home?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I’m calling it home now, you got a problem with that? Thought you wanted me to think of it that way,” Sam says, suddenly worried that Dean has changed his mind about the bunker because of all the bad stuff that’s happened there recently.

“No, not a problem. Just glad. Strap yourself in, this is gonna be a long ride. I’m not stopping this time, unless Baby needs gas.”

“You wanna get back that badly, huh?” Sam asks.

“Duh,” Dean says.

“Fine, I’ve got lots to read now. Let me know when it’s my turn to drive,” Sam says, pulling out a notebook and a stack of photocopies from the day’s research.

“Sammy?” Dean asks.

“Yeah?” Sam asks, irrationally happy to hear his name said in that fond of a tone.

“Are you still glad you didn’t fly by yourself?”Dean asks.

Sam clicks his pen shut, closes the notebook he was taking notes in, and puts down the printouts from the library and scoots over next to Dean. He puts one hand on his knee and lays his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Definitely.” Dean smiles and doesn’t say anything, just squirms a little in his seat to feel Sam pressed against him. They drive like that for the first six hours, until the sun has long since gone down and they’re crossing the Pennsylvania border into Ohio. Sam sleeping deeply with the scent of Dean giving him good dreams.

They stop for dinner just outside Wheeling, Ohio at a diner they always hope is still there and open when they pass through. It’s one of those ones that feels homey to them, not too busy or overly clean or god forbid, retro. Just a regular place, with regular customers, usually nice waitresses, and amazing burgers that even Sam enjoys. While they wait for their food, Dean tangles their feet together under the table, just like they are used to, and looks up to make sure it’s okay with Sam. Sam smiles and fiddles with his silverware.

Dean finally breaks the suddenly uncomfortable silence, “So, uh, while you were researching I was walking. Pretty much the whole time.”

“That’s a lot of walking. No wonder you were up for doing a banzai drive back home. Did the city make you itchy like it usually does?”

“Itchy? Naw, not itchy. But it’s just so alive there you know? ‘S different than all the small towns we’re usually in. I was just soaking it all up.”

“Did you get out to Central Park? I always wanted to spend more time hanging out there. We only had that chance that time we were hunting those Dutch ghouls. Remember that? Camping out in the woodsy part, avoiding the police all night.”

“Those ghouls were not expecting us. Always wondered what the cops thought of what we left behind since they didn’t give us enough time to clean up after ourselves. God what a helluva mess that was.”

They share a laugh with each other, one of those deeply satisfying laughs you get to share with people who know exactly what you’re laughing about and why. “Uh, the reason I brought it up, was ‘cause all that walkin’ gave me a lot of time to do some thinkin’.”

“Uh-oh, am I going to want to hear this?” Sam asks.

“I dunno, just let me say it first, okay?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows at Sam so he’ll know he needs to get this said. Sam instantly sees that Dean is not kidding, he needs a safe place to say something, so he nods encouragingly.

“I was thinking about Ed and Harry. How they worked all that time together. And how they just blew apart like that. What Harry said really stuck with me, about how he had always thought Ed was gonna still be next to him, when they were old and drinking on the porch. The whole empty rocking chair thing. And I just. God, Sammy, I don’t want us to ever do that. And even if we don’t end up back together, like…you know, we’re trying to get back to. I still want us to end up on that porch at the end. I swear I’m getting us two rocking chairs, and your butt is gonna be parked in one of ‘em, right next to me.”

“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. No, it is. Thank you, Dean. Whatever’s gotten into you, making you talk so much, right when we needed it most, well it’s a gift to be thankful for.”

“Nothing’s gotten into me, Sammy, I know how to treat my Princess right.”

Bea, their waitress interrupts then, a smile on her face for the two young men engaged in such an intense conversation. “Sorry fellas, you’re order’s gonna be a while, Carl ran out to go get some peppers. Said he wouldn’t make your burger without ‘em. So here’s two soup of the day’s for you, chicken noodle, on the house.”

“Thanks, Bea, that’s great, we don’t mind waiting,” Dean said with a smile. She sets the two bowls down on the table and walks off towards the register. Sam gets up from his side of the booth while Dean’s focus is on the departing waitress, and slides in next to his brother.

“I know we don’t usually sit like this in diners. But I’m used to sitting with you like this, being in the car all the time. Side by side instead of across from each other. Just like we’ll be set up in our rocking chairs.” Sam pulls one of the soup bowls over and starts eating, while Dean looks on in open-mouthed surprise.

Sam continues, “You know, I was thinking too, while you were driving. About Sonny’s place, what you had there, what you gave up. And I know I already thanked you. But you didn’t seem to hear it then. So I want to say it again. Thank you, Dean, for staying with me all this time, all those times when you chose me over everything else you could have had instead. I know it probably doesn’t seem like it sometimes, but I appreciate what you’ve given up for me.”

Dean doesn’t seem to be able to answer, just lays his head on Sam’s shoulder, ignoring the jostling as Sam eats the soup. Only raising it when their hamburgers finally show up.

Sam drives for the next couple tanks of gas while Dean naps, flopped over across the whole seat with his head pillowed on Sam’s thigh. Sam positions himself with one hand in Dean’s hair as much as he can manage. Dean does the last segment when they change places in Des Moines. He drives the last five hours, through Iowa and Nebraska and finally down into Kansas, armed with a new cup of coffee between his legs and Sam’s hand on his knee, the window down and the radio blasting. Sam sleeps through it all anyways. But their hands are on each other the whole way back to the bunker.

“Wake up, Sammy, we’re finally home,” Dean says.

Sam opens his eyes, blinking in the bright lights of their enormous garage, and startling as Dean pulls him out of the passenger side door. He tries to wake up, he really does, but even with all the napping he got in, all that time crunched up in the car did him in. Dean helps him up the stairs and into their room, laying him out on the bed.

“You’re not gonna wake up tonight, are ya, Sasquatch? Shit, and I drove us all the way for nothin’,” Dean grumbles as he takes Sam’s boots off for him.

Sam manages to get his jeans off and curls up on his side of the bed. “’m sorry, tomorrow, okay? Sleep with me now, c’mon.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, good night Sammy,” Dean says, resigned to another few hours of waiting. He strips down to boxers and slips in under the covers on the other side of the bed and turns out the light.

Sam sits up when the light clicks off. “You’d really just go to sleep like that, after all that driving, just because I asked?”

Dean rubs at Sam’s back, like he’s trying to gentle an upset horse. “Of course. I want you to be awake for this, you know?”

“Oh, I’m awake now,” Sam says, with a grin in his voice.

“Why’s that all of a sudden?”

“Just realizing,” Sam says as he climbs over Dean to turn on the bedside lamp.

“Um, realizing what?” Dean asks, looking up at Sam who is straddling his legs like it’s no big deal.

Sam smiles down at him, touching Dean’s lips as they move when he speaks. “I’d forgotten that this is always worth waking up for.”

Dean pulls at Sam’s shirts until he gets the idea and takes all three of them off. Dean can’t seem to stop his hands touching all of Sam’s skin that he can reach. So warm, so alive, and all his Sam. “Can’t believe you really forgot that. I was right about how I’m losing my touch.”

Sam’s hands are roaming too, playing all over Dean’s sensitive spots. “Naw, I’ve just been in my head for too long with all the researching.”

“Well, let’s get you out of there then, and in this bed right here, right now. What do you want, Sammy?” Dean asks, searching out Sam’s eyes like he wants to confirm he really wants this.

**SAM**

Sam sees that hesitation and brings both hands up to cradle Dean’s face. “You. Just you, Dean.”

“C’mon, you know you gotta be a little more specific than that,” Dean growls encouragingly, moving his hips so that Sam can feel how ready he is for anything.

“Want you in me, Dean.”

“Where, Sammy?”

“Everywhere. Want to suck you first.”

Dean sucks in a breath, sudden arousal hitting him hard. “Not a problem.”

“Get those off,” Sam says pulling on Dean’s boxers. He slides off the bed to pull his own boxers off then settles himself in between Dean’s spread legs, big hands rubbing up and down Dean’s thighs, pushing them apart a little. “God, look at you, so hard for me already. So beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“No. Gonna shut you up,” Sam says with a one-sided grin, licking up and down the length of Dean’s cock. He waits to hear the sound of Dean’s head coming up off the pillow to watch him, feels Dean’s hands twist in the sheets on either side of his hips in anticipation. Sam takes just the head between his lips, nuzzling and suckling, tongue coming out in a spiral and licking up the pre-come, digging for more out of the slit. Dean’s breathing stops completely. Sam looks up at him in concern. Dean’s eyes are huge, focused on Sam’s mouth and how it’s stretched around the mushroom-shaped head of his cock, Sam’s lips all shiny and red, spit starting to dribble out of the corners of his mouth.

“God, don’t stop. Please, Sam.”

Sam winks at him with a glint of triumph, and pulls off to free his mouth. “Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t shut up, you never can, I never want you to, always want to hear you Dean, want to hear how much you need it, want to give it to you Dean, all of it.” Sam gently strokes and fondles Dean’s balls, holding them up against the base of his cock, then letting them sag back down, rolling each one separately, rubbing one finger against his perineum, just to feel Dean shiver.

**DEAN**

“Ah, every time, every time it makes me do that. God, it feels so good, Sam.” Finally, Dean can’t take the teasing licks anymore and wraps one of his hands in Sam’s hair at the base of his skull. “No more teasing Sammy, c’mon, please.” Dean knows he’s begging, that it’s what Sam wants. Hell it’s what they both want, and he’s okay with it, being like this with Sam; it’s the only time he ever gets to let loose, be a little bit closer to what he really is, when Sam’s taking him apart like this, layer by layer until his armor is all left behind him in a shiny messed-up heap. That’s where he wants to be, in that naked clearing with Sam - just them, together, joined.

“Need you Sammy, need to be in you,” Dean purrs as he’s hitting the back of Sam’s throat, spongy tip of his cock pressing into the deepness of that long beautiful throat. Dean runs one hand up Sam’s neck. “C’mon Sam, please.”

Sam slowly backs himself off of Dean, reluctant to let go of his cock completely, leaving just his lips around the very tip as he breathes hot and low, whispering words into Dean’s depths.

“What’re you saying?” Dean asks, curious even though he’s falling under his brother’s spell again, this familiar magician that knows every trick to magick him away into another realm, different every time. “What’re you saying, wanna hear it.” Dean pulls him up, wincing a little as the slight suction from the sensitive tip of his cock is lost, Sam’s lips are still moving and his eyes are shut. “Are you praying on my cock, Sammy?”

“Yeah Dean, yeah I am,” answers Sam, eyes opening just half-way, glittering in the dim light, heat and lust and desperation pooled in their depths.

“Why’re you praying while you’re sucking me off, Sam?”

**SAM**

“Praying that this is the last first-time I ever do this,” Sam answers, leaning in to kiss Dean, sharing the taste of him, swapping it back and forth; the taste of it’s been so long, so much time, so many worries, wanting it to never be like this again. As good as reunion sex is, Sam doesn’t want it ever again.

“Last first time, let it be so,” Dean intones seriously as they break apart from the kiss. He looks at Sam and smiles. “Let’s make it count then.” He rolls away from Sam to rustle around in his bedside table, pulling out a tube of lube. “You want me to wear a condom?”

“Are you still clean?” Sam asks.


	5. Chapter 5

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

“Yeah, still clean,” Dean reassures him, momentarily flashing with sadness on how Sam has to ask, because not all of their separation is clear in his mind. “No one but you, Sam.”

“Then no, just want you,” Sam answers, rolling Dean so that he’s on his back, and Sam straddling his chest. “C’mon, get me ready.”

Dean looks up and up and up at his brother looming above him, from his cock jutting out, up past his hard and tight abs, his sculpted chest, massive shoulders, and that face, - the way he’s looking at Dean, examining every nuance of expression, memorizing every detail. Dean smiles up at him and leans up to kiss the head of his cock. While he’s up there, Sam puts a couple pillows behind his head so he can stay there. Dean takes a cue from how Sam was blowing him and suckles just the end of Sam’s cock while he gets some lube on his fingers, swirling it around his entrance, slowly pushing through with one finger, never breaking eye contact or letting go with his lips either, already feeling so connected to Sam at these points.

Sam’s face is a summer lightning storm, emotion and power rolling through it, his eyes flashing different colors as he moves, starts to sink onto Dean’s fingers. Dean twists and scissors inside of Sam, pulling him apart, stretching him, making him wet as deep inside as he can reach. He curls his fingers and grazes Sam’s prostate.

Sam gasps, “Not yet, please Dean, want you in me.” Dean nods and backs his fingers out. He pulls gently on Sam’s balls, running his hands up and down Sam’s ass, feeling the powerful muscles clench and release. He’s waiting for Sam to take the lead, sensing that he needs to run this show, their first time, taking back the autonomy of his body. Using it how he wants, only for their pleasure now.

Sam knees his way down the outside of Dean’s body, until he’s hovering over the top of Dean’s thighs, lining himself with Dean’s cock. He puts just the tip inside himself, clenching it with his rim, gripping it so hard Dean gasps. Slowly he clenches and releases, moving down to take an inch at time in, settling himself down until his ass is seated in Dean’s lap. His eyes have been holding Dean’s this whole time, watching his brother’s reactions to the hard way he’s taking him inside. “I’ve got you now,” Sam says.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Not letting go this time,” Sam pants, as his movements increase, little circles and undulations, moving and teasing both of them. Dean’s breathing harder now too, restraining himself from thrusting up into Sam, - he’s still waiting for a sign from him that it’s what he wants.

“Good, no more of that, ever,” Dean answers, licking his lips in invitation. Sam’s eyes widen at the sight of that tongue and he leans forward slowly, still gripping Dean so tightly, so deep inside, until their lips finally meet, and their tongues intertwine. The motion of his hips speed up. Dean’s hands hold onto the back of Sam’s head, holding him there for a longer kiss, but Sam shakes them off.

“Let me,” Sam says, putting Dean’s hands on the outside of Sam’s hips, patting them so he’ll get the message to stay. Dean crinkles his eyebrows in confusion, looking up at Sam riding him, seeing a lost look in his eyes as he speeds up. “Sammy, can I?”

“Not yet, almost, Dean,” Sam answers. “You’re doing so good holding onto me.”

Sam’s hips start to move in a figure eight where he presses down harder in the center, and Dean’s groans increase. He’s not even moving, he’s just being ridden; Sam’s using him for his pleasure, but it feels incredible, like he’s hooked up to a Tesla coil, energy and power sparking off of where they’re joined with every damn swivel of Sam’s hips. His brother’s face is so wild, so Sam at his most primal. All of his brother’s hurt and anger and sorrow is pouring off of him in sheets, he’s using all of that to power their coupling into something else. He’s transforming it, an alchemy of emotion and bodies, and Dean doesn’t know where he is anymore, in the realm of Sam. All he knows is that he’s where he’s supposed to be.

“Now, Dean, please, hurry,” Sam finally begs, his hands pushing down onto Dean’s chest. “C’mon, with me.” Dean plants his feet, bends his knees, and pumps up into his brother, hard and fast, the weight of him, the heft and torque, all of it combining to push the pressure of their release towards the brink.

“With me, Dean,” Sam demands. Dean’s hands tighten on Sam’s hips to communicate that he’s there, he’s right there with him. And then they are, both of them, completely in-sync, releasing at the same time as so rarely ever happens. Dean doesn’t know where he ends and Sam begins, and he doesn’t care - he wants it to always be like this, forever and ever amen.

“Yeah, I want that too,” Sam says. Dean swallows hard in sudden embarrassment; he didn’t realize he’d said that out loud, but he gets over it quickly when Sam sags down over him to bring their lips together.

“Not bad for a last first-time,” Dean says, a little awed at the whole shebang.

“Thanks for uh, listening to what I wanted,” Sam says.

“Always, Sammy, you just gotta speak up,” Dean answers.

“Glad we’re back in our bed,” Sam mumbles into the side of Dean’s neck. Dean can barely breathe because Sam’s gone completely limp on top of him. He finally feels himself soft enough to pull out, which gets Sam to roll off to the side.

“You planned something like this happening, didn’t you? That’s why you wanted to get back here so fast,” Dean asks, as he stumbles up out of the bed in search of something to wipe them up with, wetting a discarded t-shirt with water from his sink.

Sam mutters into the pillow, “I didn’t know it would be exactly like that, but yeah, I knew it was gonna be intense.”

“Intense is the word for it, you were a wild man riding me like that,” Dean says in admiration as he cleans his brother up with Sam’s discarded t-shirt. Sam doesn’t respond, he’s out cold. Dean chuckles a little as he pulls the blanket up and over Sam’s legs, covering him up. “Night, Sammy,” he whispers, carding his fingers through Sam’s beautifully messed up sex hair. He switches off the lamp and gets in on his side of the bed. Oh thank god, there’s a his side of the bed again. And that’s the last thought he has for a while, the long drive and the last-ever reunion sex have finally done him in. The Mark is not invincible against the power of a Sam-fueled event like that.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

A couple weeks later, Sam’s out for a late afternoon run, and Dean hears a strange, yet slightly familiar sound, followed by light footsteps somewhere upstairs. He looks up from the library table, because it’s not Sam’s returning footsteps by the sound of them, and is shocked at who he sees leaning over the banister. “You’re here! How can you be here?”

“I brought the key with me, remember?” Charlie yells, red hair flying behind her as she hurries down the stairs to give Dean a big hug.

“Oh yeah. Well, hey, how’s Oz?” asks Dean, holding her at arm’s length so he can get a look at her, not able to stop the goofy, proud smile he knows is plastered on his face..

Charlie hugs him again when she sees that smile, then lets him go, stepping back to walk over to riffle through the papers covering the table. “Oz is pretty great, it’s better than the books, not as colorful as the movies. Dorothy said to say ‘Hey’.”

Dean slings an arm over her shoulders and pulls her away from the table, not wanting to get into a whole discussion on the reasons for the recent research project. He steers her over to their sitting area. “So, you coming back for good, or just for a visit?”

“Well, I was missing you guys, and I thought you probably were wondering if I was alright or not. I had the chance to come back, Dorothy had a big state-dinner thing she had to go to. So here I am, but yeah, just a visit.”

“So you really are happy there then?” Dean asks.

Charlie stretches a little in her chair and settles back. “Yeah. It’s not what I expected. In some ways, it’s probably even better.”

“And you’re, uh, with Dorothy?” Dean asks, a little hesitantly, feeling like he’s got to play the older brother role.

“Yes, that a problem?” Charlie asks.

“No, of course not, it was just a little undefined when y’all left,” Dean says, hoping that explanation works well enough to satisfy her.

“I didn’t think it would be given your situation with Sam and all,” Charlie says.

“What?” Dean asks, feeling himself begin to blush bright red, he tries to stare her down.

Charlie rolls her eyes and flaps a hand at him. “Dean, I’ve read the books, I know.”

“But it’s not in the books. I read them after you left. Chuck kept it out,” Dean protests, feeling like he’s had his legs cut out from underneath him.

“It was there, believe me. Plus I know you guys in person. It doesn’t take a genius, and I am one anyways. So your secret is safe with me. No judging here,” Charlie says, holding up both hands in the surrender signal.

“Oh, okay. No judging here either. Glad you’re happy, even though I’m not sure she’s good enough for you,” Dean says begrudgingly, and inside he’s feeling great that she’s not going to give him a hard time about him and Sam.

“Such a big brother,” Charlie says, evidently enjoying teasing him, given the wide grin on her face.

“Shut up, squirt. Seems like you need one. Hey, sounds like Sam is making his entrance. I’m gonna fix you a welcome back dinner. What’ve you missed most food-wise?” Dean asks.

“Oh god, anything Italian would be great,” Charlie answers.

“Okay, give me a little bit, I’ll make a quick trip to the store. Heya, Sammy, look who’s here!” Dean hollers up the staircase.

Sam pops his head over and his whole face changes when he sees their visitor. “No way, Charlie! I’d come hug you, but I’m all sweaty from running.”

“Still keeping in shape, I see,” Charlie says to Dean as Sam descends the stairs.

“Yep, boy’s gotta do a few miles a day at least otherwise he gets antsy, drives me freakin’ nuts. I’m headin’ out for dinner supplies, you need anything, Sam?” Dean asks, as he’s scooping up his car keys and wallet off the table.

“Yeah, we finished the beer last night, so get some more,” Sam says.

“When are we ever not out of beer, it’s like on the permanent shopping list at this point. Not that I’m complaining about actually having a permanent anything at this point in our lives. Bye, see you in an hour or so,” Dean squeezes Sam’s bicep as he goes past, and Sam’s hands reach up to touch Dean’s hand briefly. Charlie smiles to herself witnessing this small interaction between the brothers. She waves goodbye to Dean.

“I’m gonna go take a quick shower, be right back in ten, make yourself at home, you know where everything is,” Sam says, gesturing around the room.

“’kay, I’ll just poke around in all your private and personal stuff,” Charlie jokes.

“Hey, as long as I don’t catch you, knock yourself out,” Sam laughs, heading downstairs to the shower room.

Charlie gets herself a bottle of Coke out of the fridge, along with the last of a bag of potato chips, both of which are definitely lacking in Oz. She looks at the research spread out on the big tables and at the level of whiskey in the bottles on the bar. Not much has changed in the time that she’s been gone. She goes over her internal checklist about what she’s here to accomplish, reminding herself about the reason she’s even back in this place.

Sam comes back and joins her on the couch, pushing back his wet hair out of his eyes. “So what’s been going on? Tell me about Oz and everything.”

“So, uh, Sam, there was a reason I came to see you guys just now. It wasn’t just a random visit. I’ve got some stuff I need to talk to you about before Dean gets back.”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together, making a deep U in his forehead, “Okay? Go ahead, I guess.”

“Well, one of the witches over there in Oz was using a crystal ball thing to see if we could check on you guys. I was missing you and I wondered if it would even be able to see anything here in this world. And it kinda worked better than she meant it to. It put her into this trance thing, and basically she was able to tell me what’s happened, just like reading one of Chuck’s books. So I’m all caught up on you guys and what you’ve been up to,” Charlie says.

“Alright, so you know about the angel thing and how he saved your life then,” Sam says.

“Yeah, and more importantly, the Mark of Cain thing. Sam, she wasn’t able to just tell me about the past, she told me the future too. And that’s why I’m here. We have to help Dean get rid of the Mark. It’s going to kill both of you otherwise,” Charlie says, feeling the urgency of her mission increase as she encounters Sam’s disbelief.

“I don’t think so, Charlie, Dean’s got it under control,” Sam says.

“For now he does. But it all goes downhill soon after he gets ahold of the First Blade. So here is what she said to do, - I wrote it all down so I wouldn’t screw it up.” Charlie digs around in her big leather pouch and pulls out a fancy-looking scroll of parchment. “Yeah, I know, very Hermione. Remind me to take back some freakin’ notebooks.”

Sam grins at her Harry Potter reference and takes the scroll and begins reading. His face goes darker and more concerned as he continues reading. He blows out a big breath when she finishes up. “I have how long to do all this?”

“She said it was maybe a month away. Times weird though between here and there. So I guess, don’t put it off.”

“I won’t. I’m pretty sure we have most of this already.”

“I figured it wouldn’t be too hard for you to figure out.”

“Thanks, Charlie. For coming back here to tell me. Giving me a heads up like this will hopefully make all the difference.”

“That’s the idea! I want to have somewhere to come back to, you know, just in case. Eventually Dorothy’s gotta get sick of me.”

“Why would she?” Sam asks.

“Well, I think it probably gets old dealing with someone that’s such a stranger to every aspect of your culture and world. I just feel like I’m a burden a lot of the time.”

“But she loves you right?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I mean she says she does,” Charlie says.

“Well, in my experience, you need to handle the feeling like a burden thing yourself somehow. Otherwise it’ll get in the way, even if she loves you.”

“Yeah, I take it you’re speaking from experience. You and Dean back together then?” Charlie asks.

“Uh huh, just recently actually. And that’s all I’m saying on that. But just, take my advice and get yourself sorted out so she has someone to love. And love her back.”

“Got it. So Dean’s actually cooking for real now? Lucky you,” Charlie says.

“Yeah, he is, and he’s actually getting really good at it,” Sam answers.

“I am? Thanks Sammy,” Dean says, coming up behind him silently and clapping him on the shoulders. Sam looks up at him in surprise. Dean leans down and presses a quick kiss to his lips upside down.

“Aww, you two,” Charlie coos at them, feeling happier and more hopeful for these two than she has in quite a while.

“Shut up, little sister, or no lasagna for you,” Dean says, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

“You know how to make lasagna?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah, it’s pretty easy, all in the timing, right, Sam?”

“Yes, as in don’t forget to set a timer,” Sam says, holding back a laugh.

“Oh no, did we have a problem?” Charlie asks.

“There was one disaster, but it was because we were talking. So it was worth it, found a good restaurant outta the deal. But I proved myself capable the second time around.”

“Yes you did. And it was better than that restaurant, just like I said it would be.”

“You guys are too much,” Charlie says, shaking her head at how ridiculously cute these two are now that she’s finally told them that she knows their whole story.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

When Dean comes into the bedroom the night after they finally make it back from Magnus’ place, he finds Sam sitting on their bed holding a pair of demon-proof handcuffs. “I think we need to use these tonight,” Sam says.

“Sammy’s ready to get his kink on, huh?” Dean asks, leaning up against the door frame.

“No, it’s not that. Well, not all that. I’m…uh, starting to feel unsafe,” Sam admits.

“What? With me?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, you know how you’re getting stronger?” Sam asks.

“Uh huh, sure,” Dean says, wondering what he’s missed while the haze of the Mark has taken over. It hasn’t happened too many times when it’s just him and Sam, but just enough to notice.

“Well, it’s starting to scare me, because of how your personality is changing. Ever since you used that blade thing, you’re not always 100% you.”

“Do you just not want to have sex or something?” Dean asks, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to, as if something’s adding itself onto his own voice.

“No, I don’t want to stop. Not when we’re just getting ourselves back together, you know? But I also know that you wouldn’t ever want to hurt me, right? And it seems like a possibility,” Sam says.

Dean crosses the room and stands in front of Sam, in his personal space. He holds his wrists together out towards Sam. “So you wanna cuff me so I can’t get too crazy on you? I don’t have a problem with that.”

Sam looks up at Dean for a long moment and then down at Dean’s hands held in front of him. “You sure?”

"Sam, do whatever. I’d rather have you even if I’m cuffed. As long as I’m getting off, I don’t really care,” Dean says, shrugging dramatically, and shoving his hands in his pockets. The building desire he’d felt is quickly turning into irritation.

“Oh, well when you put it like that,” Sam huffs.

“I was kidding,” Dean says, sitting down next to Sam on the bed and elbowing him in the ribs.

Sam looks over at him at the surprise contact on his ribs. “Didn’t sound like it to me.”

“Well, who knows, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if I’m talking to you, or the Mark You,” Sam says.

“Am I really that different?” Dean asks, because he’s pretty sure he’s still the same Dean he’s always been.

“Yeah, you’re starting to be. It’s like you’re on another frequency or something. I barely got you to stop when we were at Magnus’ place yesterday.”

Dean’s eyes go a little hazy recalling how it felt in that place; how he felt so completely alive holding the blade in his hand, like it was always meant to be there, how everything and everyone else had faded in importance, even Sam. Especially Sam. He stumbles a little on his words, not sure how to convey it without scaring Sam too much. “It was like you were in another room, and I could barely hear you yelling at me.”

“But I was right there, you were holding that knife, and I was tied up right in front of you. For a second I thought,” Sam cuts himself off. He obviously doesn’t want to say the words out loud, as if it’ll make it worse, or even more true for both of them.

“Thought what? I was gonna cut your head off too? Give me some credit, wouldja.”

“Well, that’s what it felt like, you were unreachable. Not… there. Even Crowley noticed,” Sam says.

“He did?” Dean asks, because that part of the festivities is definitely a little hazy in his memory.

“Yeah. So if we’re doing anything, I just want to take the precaution of the cuffs. And like you said, we can maybe get a little kinky about it while we’re at it. As long as the Mark doesn’t mess us up too much,” Sam says.

“How do you mean?” Dean asks.

“Well, it makes you really cold and detached. Amoral.”

“Like Cain,” Dean says.

Sam nods. “I guess.”

“I don’t know if we should take the risk, Sam. I mean, I want you, I always do. But I know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you somehow because of this thing, especially while we were having sex.”

“Thus the cuffs. It’ll be fine, Dean, wanna try ‘em now?” Sam asks, dangling them from one finger.

“Uh, if you’re sure… I wouldn’t say no. Where? Here or the dungeon?” Dean asks, starting to get excited about the idea.

“The dungeon? No thanks, too cold, here will work. The bed’s strong enough, don’t you think?”

They take their clothes off, piece by piece, until they’re both naked, standing in the center of their bedroom. The cuffs lay there shining on the bed, open, and innocent of purpose. Sam picks them up and fastens one around Dean’s wrist, pulls him towards the bed and pushes him down onto it. Dean grins up at him and wiggles himself into place. Sam threads the empty cuff through the headboard, and then fastens it onto Dean’s other wrist. “I hope it doesn’t bruise you too much,” Sam says, looking concerned.

“I’m more worried about my shoulders,” Dean answers, “so get to gettin’ already.”

“Next time, we should do some foreplay before putting on the cuffs, I’m gonna have to do all the work,” Sam grumbles.

“Tell you what, how about if I direct you? Tell you what to do?” Dean asks.

“Dean Winchester, toppiest top to ever top. I swear.”

“Stop it, Sam. I’m just trying to balance this out somehow. Forget it, un-cuff me,” Dean demands, pulling at the cuffs and rattling them against the headboard.

“No. You’re right. Go ahead, start with some orders, let’s see how it goes.”

“Fine, humor me, whatever. But you’re gonna end up liking it, I know you are,” Dean says.

“Whatever. What’s first?” Sam asks.

“Kiss me,” Dean orders.

“Yes sir.”

“No, none of that sir business. Just do it.”

“Okay.”

Sam kisses him, a quick peck on the lips.

“Sammy.” Dean rattles the handcuffs impatiently.

“Just kidding.” Sam leans back in and kisses Dean long and slow, - toe curling is a good description, but neither of them are paying attention to their toes at the moment.

“Now kiss my neck, bite me like you always do,” Dean says. Sam obeys, moving from one side to the other, enjoying Dean’s responsive moans of pleasure.

“What next, Dean?”

“My nipples, do that thing, you know,” Dean says, trying to hide his gasps of pleasure at the feel of Sam’s lips and teeth and tongue.

“So responsive, always so good like this,” Sam says, licking first one and then the other nipple until it is as hard and erect as it can get. Turning redder with each bite, soothing with a swirl of tongue and then a gentle suckling.

“Feel me, feel how hard that makes me, Sammy,” Dean groans.

“Oh yeah, that’s always worked on you,” Sam agrees, stroking up and down Dean’s hard length. He licks his palm and goes back to stroking Dean, waiting for his next instructions.

“I’m…uh losing track here,” Dean admits.

“C’mon, if you want anything else than this, you gotta tell me,” Sam demands.

“You are a kinky fucker, aren’t you?” Dean gasps as Sam’s hand speeds up, squeezing harder and twisting at the tip of his cock.

“You know it, take advantage of it, now’s your chance,” Sam offers.

“Fine, blow me then, do your worst, then sit on my face,” Dean grits out as Sam’s hand speeds to a blur.

“Mmmm, you got it,” Sam murmurs, letting up on the fast stroking and flipping around to crouch at Dean’s side, his feet tucking in under Dean’s right shoulder. Sam leans over and holding Dean’s cock up at the perfect angle for him to sink his whole mouth down over it, takes him in hard and as deep as possible, his nose just poking into the top of Dean’s balls. Dean’s pulling at the cuffs now, Sam can hear them clinking over the constant stream of moaning filth Dean is coming out with. He speeds his sucking pulls right up until Dean is thrusting into his throat, finally releasing with a hard cut-off scream.

Sam pulls off of Dean, licking the tip of his cock and suckling the last bit of come out. Then he swings his leg over, straddling Dean backwards, backing up towards his waiting mouth. Dean’s still panting from coming so hard, but he’s so ready for this, having Sam take this pleasure from him, demanding this when he’s cuffed to the bed. The Mark rises up in him, coming up as a red fog that threatens to overwhelm him, insisting that he should be the one taking, not giving. But he pushes it down, because Sam is lowering his balls into his waiting open mouth. Dean takes them in and sucks gently, running his tongue all around Sam’s sack, especially flicking over the vein that runs up the center. Sam yelps when he feels the rumble of Dean’s laughter, the vibrations traveling up into him like he’s been waiting for this particular tone to be rung deep in his body for years. “God, Dean, that’s perfect just like that.”

Dean says, “Now your hole, give it to me.”

Sam tilts his ass back so that Dean can reach it, first just with his tongue, but then his lips and teeth. Sam can barely hold himself up, he just wants to grind into Dean’s face, wishing that Dean’s hands were free so that his fingers could be involved. Dean turns his head to the side and says, “Put your fingers in yourself, Sam, get them in there deep for me.”

Sam complies, putting in two at first and then three, pumping them in and out. Along with Dean’s tongue, it’s so good, so very good. “Can I, Dean?”

“Yeah Sammy, come for me, want it on me,” Dean demands, in this deep, commanding voice colored with the power of the Mark. He hears himself, how unmoored he sounds, and suddenly he’s glad that he’s restrained, being overwhelmed with the urge to take Sam apart in the bloodiest way possible. He nudges the top of his head into Sam’s thigh, urging him to turn himself. “C’mon Sammy, want it on my face.”

Sam turns himself around at the sound of command in Dean’s voice, so otherworldly and impossible to ignore. “Oh, oh god, Dean,” Sam cries out as he strips his cock until it all pours out of him, all over Dean’s upturned face, dripping down his lips and cheeks, his neck, even in his eyelashes.

“Clean me up now, Sam, and don’t you swallow it,” Dean demands.

Sam shivers at the command in Dean’s voice, like he’s trying to resist it. But at another wordless growl from the back of Dean’s throat, he sets to licking all of Dean clean.

“Give it back to me, kiss me like you mean it, come on,” Dean commands.

Sam raises his eyebrows in surprise at how demanding and crazy this is getting, but he complies without a word of protest, kissing Dean deeply, the taste of himself and Dean’s come mingling into the wildest flavor. They kiss for a long time, trading it back and forth, until Dean pushes it all into Sam’s mouth and breaks their kiss.

“Swallow for me now, Sammy,” he says in a growl.

Sam’s eyes go wide and dark at that possessive command, and he lifts his head up so that Dean can see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows it all. He moves to undo the cuffs, but Dean stops him.

“Not yet, you need to wait a little while,” Dean says in a deep voice that sounds like it’s coming from very far away.

Sam nods and lays down next to Dean, holding him tightly, feeling how much tension is running through his body, like he’s in the middle of a fight. He looks over at Dean and sees the gritted teeth. “Is there anything that I can do to help?”

“No, just let me calm down,” Dean says, sounding irritated and like he’s struggling to not start yelling.

Sam lies back, not touching Dean at all and stares at the ceiling, his body still thrumming with the effects of this kind of kinky sex they haven’t had in a very long time. He’s not sure if it’s Dean, or the way the Mark is making Dean behave, but that note of command and control, even though he was cuffed to the bed was a blazing hot turn-on. He can see that this is going to be harder and harder to say no to. And Dean has always been very persuasive, even without the Mark.

After about a half hour of silence, where Sam has almost drifted off, Dean says, “You can undo me now.”

Sam sits up and looks at Dean, who won’t meet his eyes from either embarrassment or an attempt to hide something. “Dean, look at me,” Sam says, “I need to see you.”

Dean flicks his eyes back to Sam, staring intensely with something verging on anger, but there’s restraint there too. “It’s me, Sammy, all me.”

Sam swallows a little nervously, and then gets the key off the nightstand, he reaches over to undo the cuffs, and brings Dean’s hands down, rubbing at the red chafed skin on his wrists. “Did they hurt you?”

“Naw, not much. ‘sides, I’m invincible now, right? You’re okay, though?” Dean asks, sounding solicitous and a little worried.

“Why are you asking? You were there. I’m more than okay, it was pretty damn amazing.”

“Oh, uh… good,” Dean mumbles, his words trailing off softly.

“Hold on, do you not remember it or something?” Sam asks, now he sounds a little worried.

Dean’s first impulse is to lie, of course it is, that’s what they do, how they handle each other and their closeness. But he remembers his recent promise to share with Sam everything that happens with the Mark. “I…uh, well I guess I don’t remember exactly what happened after you finished blowing me. I kinda went away, and came back to myself when I was trying to calm down enough to get you to take the cuffs off of me.”

“Want me to fill you in on what you missed?” Sam asks.

“Was it hot?” Dean asks instead of answering.

“Beyond hot.”

“Tell me later, I wanna know, but I need to sleep now. Something about these spells where the Mark takes over really wipes me out,” Dean says.

“Your whole body was tensed up, like you were in the middle of a big fight, I couldn’t even touch you, it was like you’d come apart into pieces, I can see why you’d be tired. You were fighting it off, to keep it from taking you over,” Sam says.

“Yeah, probably, sleeping now,” Dean mumbles, eyes drifting shut, hands unclenching and stilling on Sam’s shoulders.


	6. Chapter 6

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“You boys are so lucky Sam! This place is amazing! All this art-deco is so beautiful. No way, a telescope too?” Jody exclaims as she strides through the main room of the bunker.

Sam chuckles as he leads her downstairs to the living quarters. “Yeah, we know. Here, down this hall is where you can stay. Pick a room. We’re in this one, so the rest are free, except for the one where we watch TV. And the bathroom is down the hall there on the end. It’s the only one, so FYI we’re all sharing. I’ll try to remind Dean so he doesn’t freak you out.”

“What, he a sleep showerer or something?” Jody asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No, uh, he doesn’t always wear a robe or well, uh… anything to the bathroom during the night,” Sam says, blushing a little when he sees her take in the visual he’s describing.

“Oh! Well, okay, yeah remind him then please. No free shows in the middle of the night thanks.”

“Yeah, he’d freak,” Sam says with a laugh.

“Sammy, who’re you talking to?” Dean’s voice floats down to them from the main room where they can hear him banging around.

“Dean, we’re down here!” Sam hollers up the stairs.

The tromping of Dean’s boots gets closer and then before she knows it, he’s swooping her up in a full-body hug, “Holy Crap! Jody!”

Dean sets her down and she looks up to see what she thinks is happiness on his face. “Thanks, uh, you only cracked one rib.”

“Sorry, don’t know my own strength these days, just glad to see you. It’s been too long. How’d you find this place?”

“Sam and I have been emailing back and forth about a visit,” Jody says, remembering all the first hesitant emails she’d gotten from Sam, expressing his worry about how Dean’s been changing.

“Hope it was encrypted,” Dean says, hard and suspicious, glaring at both Jody and Sam.

“Of course. Both ends, Dean, we learned from Frank,” Sam pats him on the shoulder, and looks at Jody. She nods when she sees the behavior Sam had described. Dean being so hard and alert but getting calmed by Sam’s touch.

Dean relaxes enough to shrug off Sam’s hand. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m about to go make some dinner, hope you like lasagna.”

“Oh god, really? Lasagna’s my absolute favorite,” Jody says with honest curiosity that Dean can actually cook.

“I’ll let you guys catch up.” Dean leans over and kisses the side of Sam’s head and leaves the room quickly.

“Oh, uh, sorry about that,” Sam says, blushing again and rubbing at the side of his head where Dean’s lips had just touched him.

“What? Him kissing you?”

“Yeah, uh…he’s been different lately. It’s what I was talking to you about, this Mark of Cain thing. It’s taken away a lot of his filters. Like the one where he worries about PDA.”

“Does it give him super strength too? Because that was quite a rib-crushing hug.”

“Uh huh, and it’s getting worse since he used the First Blade thing. Sorry, should have warned you or held him back.”

“No, it’s okay. Just, how do you keep yourself safe, Sam?” Jody asks before she thinks about all the personal details the answers to her question would encompass.

Sam stammers, going an even darker shade of red. “Well, uh…I…”

Jody puts up a hand in the stop position once she realizes how much she’s embarrassed Sam. “Hold on, I retract the question. I’m going to assume you’ve worked that out already, because you are not a stupid person and no matter how much you love him, you wouldn’t endanger yourself.”

“Right, thanks. Let’s just say that it’s handled. So, what we were discussing over email, I want to show you the ritual I need to do. It has to happen within the next few days, and I’ll need your help to do it. I can do most of it, but there’s some parts that I need a third person for, since Dean may or may not be willing or conscious.”

“What exactly are we talking about, Sam?”

“Well, here, it’s written in this notebook. The steps start here. Your parts are the ones with the asterisk in front of the instruction. Read it, and then hide it somewhere Dean wouldn’t think of looking.”

Jody glances through the list briefly, and looks up with him wide, scared eyes. “Really, Sam? It seems like this is going a touch too far, even for you guys. Especially without even asking him first.”

“It’s the only thing left, I have to do it. You’ll see after you spend a little time with him. He won’t listen to me about getting rid of the thing. I swear I wouldn’t ask it of you, but I can’t do it on my own, and I know I can trust you in a ritual when it counts.”

Jody looks down at her hands holding the notebook, at the neatly written words that will change everything for these boys, she thinks about what she’s done for them already, and what they’ve done for her, for Bobby, for the whole world. She looks up at Sam, meeting his eyes and says with as much encouragement as possible, “We did get him back through time didn’t we?”

Smiling back at her acceptance, Sam answers, “Yeah, we sure did, and this is maybe gonna be a bit harder to pull off. But there’s really no other option at this point. We need to free him from this.”

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Sam is finishing up cleaning the disaster Dean left behind in the kitchen. “You really use every pot and pan making this stuff. I mean it’s awesome, but man, it’s a lot to clean up.”

Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’s complaints. “Just making sure you have something to do Sam, don’t want you taking me for granted.”

“That’s not going to happen. Not if you keep making me lasagna,” Sam laughs as he wipes off the splatters of tomato sauce from the stovetop.

Dean interrupts Sam’s laugh with an abrupt question. “Why’s she really here, Sam?”

Sam can hear the hard edge of suspicion in Dean’s voice and turns slowly to face him. “She just wanted to see us. See our place.”

“It’s like she’s checkin’ up on us or somethin’. She’s not our mom, she’s not Bobby,” Dean hisses.

Sam puts down the sponge and wipes his hands dry on a towel. He walks to the table and stands in the vee of Dean’s legs. He puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders rubbing them slowly in a calming gesture. “Dean, she’s our friend. She cares about what happens to us. That’s what normal friends do.”

“You’d know more about that than me, I guess. So you think these walls are thick enough?” Dean asks, looking up with a lascivious grin and waggling eyebrows. He takes advantage of Sam’s position and grabs his ass firmly and yanks him closer, burying his face in Sam’s shirt front.

“Don’t even bother pretending, Dean, I know you get off on the idea of someone hearing us,” Sam says, not able to help his response to Dean’s manhandling.

“So what if I do? I like knowing people know you’re mine,” Dean emphasizes the mine by squeezing Sam’s ass, hard.

Sam rubs himself into Dean, needing some friction already. Dean so demanding like this, always turns him on so easily. “Yeah, me too.”

“Oh ho ho, so he admits to it. Now we’re talkin’, c’mon.” Dean stands up and pulls Sam out the door of the kitchen. He holds Sam from behind and growls in his ear, “Tell you what, I’ll give you a choice, the shower or the observatory.”

“Right now?” Sam asks, groaning as Dean bites the side of his neck and palms his hardening cock through his jeans. He feels like his knees are going weak at all the stimulation and getting manhandled. Dean is like a freight-train, pulling him along towards the inevitable.

“Yeah, now. Right now,” Dean purrs, biting down hard on Sam’s earlobe.

Dean certainly knows where his spots are, always has. Sam holds onto enough sense to ask, “You gotta let me go long enough to get the stuff.”

Dean wraps his arms around Sam and holds him tight, pressing his hard length into Sam’s ass for emphasis. “We don’t need it tonight. I really got it under control. C’mon c’mon.”

“No, Dean, hold on,” Sam says, turning around in Dean’s arms, trying to catch his eyes, needing to see that it’s just Dean that he’s dealing with so far.

Dean lets go of him and steps back, folding his arms across his chest. “Never mind then.”

Sam reaches out to him, arms going around Dean’s neck. “Hold it, I want it too. I just don’t want to take the risk.”

Dean’s arms snake around Sam’s waist pulling him in close, he looks up at Sam with the sincerest expression. “I won’t hurt you Sammy. You know I won’t.”

“I know you wouldn’t, I trust you, but I don’t trust it,” Sam insists, not wanting to lose the intimacy that they’ve been sharing. The bond that they have during sex seems to be keeping Dean from tipping over into the darkness of the Mark.

“I’ve told you a million times, I’ve got a handle on it, these will be enough,” Dean insists. He lets go of Sam and reaches into his pocket, suddenly dangling their police-issue cuffs in Sam’s face.

“You think you do Dean, but you really don’t, not in the middle of it all,” Sam says, still holding onto Dean, staring at the silvery cuffs that have no demon holding sigils inscribed on their smooth, unblemished surface.

Dean’s face goes hard then, as Sam takes the cuffs, but now that his hands are free they don’t stop moving, roaming up and down Sam’s back, kneading his ass. “We either do it right now, with these, or you’re getting’ nothin’.”

Sam fingers the edges of the cuffs, deciding whether it’s worth the risk. It’s one more night until the ritual, and who knows what Dean will go out and do if he doesn’t go through with having sex right now. Dean’s hands wander to brushing at Sam’s hard cock and he finds himself clipping one of the cuffs around Dean’s wrist. “Fine, upstairs then.”

“Now we’re talkin’, get goin’,” Dean says with obnoxious glee, slapping Sam on the ass as the cuff jangles.

Sam whacks him on the back of the head as they walk up the stairs to the main room. “Ssshhh, she’ll hear us.”

Dean pushes at Sam’s ass from behind. “Move your ass. Now or never Sammy. Limited time offer.”

“Why are you in such a damn hurry anyways?” Sam asks, stopping on the stairs to look back at Dean.

Dean pushes by him and grabs his hand, yanking him through the room towards the observatory. “Just come on already, tired of waiting.”

Their clothes come off in the usual mad rush and then Sam needs to find someplace to secure Dean. After a little search, they find a sturdy metal wall fixture at about waist height that Sam fastens the cuffs to. Dean watches him closely as Sam leans over a chair and works himself open, fingers glistening with lube sliding in and out.

“Want to do that to you Sam, I miss it.”

Sam walks over to him and spreads some lube on Dean’s fingers, then turns and backs himself towards Dean’s restrained hand. He fucks himself down on three of Dean’s fingers, pushing himself down further each time.

“Dean stop, that’s enough,” Sam says as Dean’s deep scissoring gets too rough too soon.

“Want to be in you Sam, now,” Dean says in the voice Sam recognizes as half Dean and half Mark Dean and knows he needs to finish this soon. Sam leans over bracing himself on the telescope railing, pushing his ass back into Dean. He reaches back to guide Dean’s cock into him.

“Ahhh, that’s better now isn’t it, Sammy?” Dean says, starting up a quick, breathless rhythm of thrusts.

Dean pounds into him, steady rhythm taking away his words. Dean’s hold on him inescapable even though he’s not the one restrained. With the extra strength that he’s got now, Sam’s no match for him. Which is admittedly part of the turn on. Even just using his cock on Sam is enough of a hold that Sam can’t resist. Sam comes hard at just the thought of it, the possible danger sparking him off faster than usual. But afterwards, Dean keeps going, speeding up even, and this is too much now. Way too much to handle. “Dean slow down,” Sam says, in as calm a voice as he can manage.

Dean doesn’t answer, he might not even hear at this point. Sam’s heart sinks, plummeting low as he realizes there’s no stopping him now. He just has to hold on until Dean’s through. He wills himself to relax, to go as limp as possible, maybe it will help signal Dean that he’s had enough. But it seems to make Dean just push into him even harder, each thrust like a punch to his insides, the pleasure that was there at first is long gone.

Then he hears the sound of breaking metal, and Dean’s hands are suddenly on his hips, holding him in place so that Dean can plunge in even deeper. Sam tries not to panic that his brother is out of the cuffs and in the grip of the Mark now. The sharp broken metal of the cuffs are digging into his sides as Dean holds him too tightly, he can feel blood dripping down the outside of his thighs. “Please…Dean. Please stop,” he manages to say in a weak voice.

The sound of Sam’s begging seems to put Dean over the edge, he comes so violently he crushes Sam into the telescope railing that he’d been holding onto. Sam feels something breaking inside his chest, maybe his rib, if not his heart. The last vague thought he has is that all that better have been enough to satisfy the Mark, or they’re all screwed. And then even that disappears, as he’s gone into the blackness.

**Dean**

Dean wakes up alone in their room, naked in bed as usual. What’s unusual is that Sam’s not in the bed with him. But when he stumbles into the shower room, he catches sight of himself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. His hands are bloody and there’s some on his thighs too. He’s wearing broken handcuffs on each wrist. He grimaces at the thought of where the blood came from, and takes a longer shower than usual. Sam must have really egged him on last night. He works on getting the cuffs off each wrist, not thinking about it anymore. It’s not until he’s mostly dressed in their room that he hears Jody’s voice screaming Sam’s name from upstairs. He drops his boots and tears up the staircase.

“Get back Dean,” Jody says in a menacing growl. She’s standing in front of the observatory nook, brandishing the sword that’s usually on top of the bookcase.

“What’s goin’ on Jody?” Dean asks, knowing that it must be related to Sam.

“Like you don’t know. I want you to just go back downstairs for me. I’ll take care of him,” Jody says, using her commanding Sheriff voice.

“Is Sam hurt?” Dean asks, feeling a blank redness deep inside, because he already knows this answer. The Mark had its demands, and it was fed last night.

“Yes he’s hurt you bastard. Just go, now.” Jody points with the sword at the staircase.

“No, let me help,” Dean says, advancing a few steps towards her.

“I think you’ve done enough here Dean, go,” she commands, slashing through the air with the sword to stop Dean’s approach.

He backs up slowly, down the stairs, his eyes not leaving the still form of his brother lying on the floor under the telescope. “First aid stuff is in the bathroom, on the shelves.”

~*@Jody*&~

Jody relaxes a little once Dean’s retreated back downstairs. She lets go of the sword and scoops up a blanket that’s on the chair in the sitting room and throws it over Sam as she kneels down next to him on the floor. She tries shaking his shoulder, with no response at all, then resorts to lightly slapping his cheek. “Sam, hey Sam. Come on buddy. Wake up.”

“Jody? What?”

“You’re okay Sam. Just hold still for a second.” She pulls the blanket over his waist and up to his shoulders. “I found you here this morning.”

“Why am I here?” Sam asks, looking confused to be on the floor. Staring up at the telescope and the skylight beyond it.

“There’s a lot of blood. I think I need to take you to the hospital or something,” Jody says, her heart hammering faster as she thinks about what injuries he could possibly have.

“No, no hospital, just help me into the bathroom, I can deal,” Sam says weakly, trying to push himself up to sitting, but collapsing again to the floor.

Jody rolls her eyes at the famous Winchester Stubbornness. “Really? You’ve passed out after sex in a pool of your own blood?”

Sam grimaces at her gentle sarcasm. “No, but I know what to do. Just help me up. And it’s not really a pool of blood. We both know what that really looks like.”

She stands up and sets her feet wide so that she can help hoist him up from the floor. She steadies him with an arm around the waist as he wavers, holding onto the telescope. “I guess I believe you now about the Mark.”

“Don’t blame it on Dean. It’s my own fault. Usually I restrain him with cuffs that have demon binding sigils. But he talked me into using our regular ones last night.”

“I don’t need details, Sam, I just need to help you. And it’s not your fault,” Jody says as she gets them down the short flight of stairs.

“It’s not his either, not really.”

“Now’s not the time for this, let’s just go get you cleaned up,” Jody says knowing that Sam probably needs to talk about this, but she needs to check his injuries more.

“No! No, Jody. I can do it. Please. I can’t ask you to do this. Just give me a few minutes. I swear I’ll yell if I fall or something,” Sam says as he pushes his way into the shower room.

“Okay. I’ll be in my room with the door open,” Jody relents, seeing how stubborn and desperate Sam is in this terrible moment. “I trust you to be honest if you need me, Sam.”

She backs out of the shower room, with a smile that she means to be reassuring but instead probably comes out just kind of sad. Jody shakes her head as she walks back to her room. She had no idea it was really this bad. But now she knows she’s got to stay and help Sam do this ritual thing. And more importantly, she sees why he was asking her to keep it secret. Dean really doesn’t know what he becomes. That makes her shiver, a chill running down her spine at the thought of that inhuman power that Dean’s got, all bearing down on one person, Sam. Sam who is strong and big and tall, but still is just a human. And there’s no point in getting mad at Dean, even though she wants to open that door and go in and read him the riot act, cuff him and drag him off to jail for hurting his brother like this. He’s not in control, not like he thinks he is, and that’s the biggest problem here. For all of them.

**Sam**

Sam holds onto the row of sinks, slowly making his way to the shower. He reaches in to turn the handle, and gasps at the pain in his ribs at the stretch. This is a lot worse than it’s ever been before. There are clouds of steam billowing out of the shower by the time he comes back to himself enough to move under the water. He manages to hold in most of his cry of pain, hoping that it isn’t enough to bring Jody running. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about Dean coming in to check on him. This Dean doesn’t care. Not like he should, not like he used to.

He swears to himself as he washes his own blood from his body that he won’t give in to Dean’s demands without insisting on the right restraints that they know actually work. He splutters under the shower water, realizing that he probably can’t even risk that anymore. He got really lucky that it wasn’t worse than a couple of broken ribs, some gashes that might need stitches and a much sorer ass than usual. That means the ritual has to happen tonight if he can recover in time. Because Dean needs at least one round every night to satisfy the Mark, otherwise he’ll go out of the bunker and do something they’ll all regret even more.

He thinks about how this is going to kill Dean when he realizes what he’s done. That it might be too much guilt for him to bear. There’s been a lot of things over the years that he didn’t think Dean could get past, but he always has. This though. Hurting Sam in this way, in the act that usually is filled with only love and pleasure between them. Well, it might ruin him. Might ruin them. Sam thinks to himself that all his hopes are riding on the result of the ritual being enough to stop that from happening. Because if after all this he still loses Dean, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to survive either.

Finally he feels cleaned up enough and the blood flow has stopped on its own. The cuts on his hips aren’t all that deep, and thankfully they don’t need stitches, just some bandages. There’ll be a lot of pain today, but it won’t be too much, not with what is on the line. He shuts off the shower and leans his forehead against the tiles which cool quickly. He realizes he’s crying, not from the pain, but from the overwhelming worry. It’s all too much think of, if this doesn’t work…how far will he have to go to stop Dean…what will he have to do? He shakes his head, water droplets flying in every direction, to stop himself from dwelling on that line of thinking.

He wipes his tears off on the towel, dries himself off and peeks out the door. Jody hears him and comes out of her room with a stack of his clothes, she gestures him to come into her room. She sets the clothes on her bed and leaves to give him privacy. This means she must have gotten the clothes from their room, - was Dean in there? Does he even know? He pulls his clothes on as quickly as he’s able; the shirt is the hardest, because at least one of his ribs are definitely broken. He gives up trying, and wonders if Jody knows how to wrap broken ribs, or if he’ll have to ask Dean to do it. Does he make up a story here, some random attack occurring outside of the bunker, while he was out on a supply run? Would Dean buy that? Sam doesn’t want to tell him the truth. Mostly because he doesn’t want to see Dean not react or show concern.

“Hey, Sam? You doin’ okay in there?” Jody asks, after knocking gently on her door.

“Yeah, Jody, come in.”

She comes in and sits next to him on the bed. “So I’m on board. Sorry it took something like this to convince me.”

“’s okay, I get it. It’s a lot to ask. I really have no one else though.”

“You’ve got me, for whatever you need. You boys are important to me. I couldn’t forgive myself if something bad happens and I could have done something about it.”

“Jody, I don’t know what we did to deserve a friend like you. Bobby sure knew how to pick ‘em. But I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too, Sam.”

“Does he know?” Sam asks.

“He saw you when I first found you upstairs. But I waved a sword at him, told him to leave and stay in your room. He didn’t look like he was too upset. I just got those clothes from your room for you, and he was just spacing out listening to music, didn’t say a thing to me. Honestly, it was a little creepy.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Alright, I’ve got to get myself together so we can do it tonight.”

“Do what tonight?” Dean asks, standing in the partially open doorway.

“Well, we were going to surprise you with your favorite meal, Dean, but now that you’ve heard about it … I don’t know,” Jody teases. Sam smiles at her, impressed that she was so fast on her feet and hoping that Dean will buy the only lie she could come up with on the spot.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything, you two carry on,” Dean rumbles, false note of teasing not matching the tight clenching of his fists.

Dean starts to leave, with a smile and wiggle of eyebrows that kind of breaks Sam’s heart a little at just how familiar it is, but underneath it is this cold calculating stare. Dean’s eyes not warmed at the thought of good food, but instead casting a suspicious glance between the two of them.

Sam stands and then gasps at the pain in his ribs.

“Sam, you okay?” Jody asks, hand going to his lower back.

Dean comes forward a step, pretty much growling at the sight of her hand on Sam’s bare skin. “Let me check him.”

She steps back at the sound of that possessive noise and lets Dean come close enough. He runs his hands over Sam’s body in the familiar rote patterns of injury check that their father taught them so long ago. He skips over the rib, coming back to it last like he already knows. Then he presses harder than he needs to. Sam gasps again, in agony this time, pushing Dean away. “Yeah, I already know it’s broken.”

“I’ll go get the stuff to wrap you up, back in a sec.” Dean disappears quickly out the door.

Jody asks, “See what I meant?”

“Yeah, he didn’t ask how it happened, it’s like he knows what he’s done, doesn’t care, but is handling it anyways,” Sam observes, wincing at the memory of the extra force Dean had used pressing on the rib.

Dean comes back with a muscle isolation wrap bandage and tugs at Sam’s arms. “C’mon lift ‘em up.”

“Jody, could you…uh, go?” Sam desperately wants her to leave, doesn’t want her to have to actually see all the evidence on his body again.

“Sam, I’m staying.”

Dean pulls the wrap around him once, heedless of his choked-off gasps of pain. “Okay, deep breath in and hold it, you know the drill Sammy.” His hands feel hot and sure smoothing the wrap around and around his ribs, making no comments on the scratches, bites and bruises that cover most of the surface of Sam’s torso. Sam holds his breath in and concentrates on his brother’s voice calling him Sammy at this point in time, and how unfair it is, - how usually it would make him happy, spark up that spot inside that only Dean can ever reach, how much he wants it to really be Dean saying it to him.

“Okay, all done. Uh…I’m gonna go make some coffee and breakfast,” Dean says in a low rumble as he turns and walks out the door.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

Jody helps Sam into his shirt and leaves him behind to gather himself together and heads upstairs into the kitchen. She barely sets foot inside the room when Dean is up in her face, hissing at her. “I know you’re up to something. Just keep your hands off of him. He’s mine.”

She takes a step back, terrified by the look on Dean’s face. It’s so utterly not like him, he might as well be one of the monsters they hunt. She takes a deep breath and says as calmly as she can manage, “I know, Dean, I will. I promise, I’m not trying to take Sam away from you.”

“Like you even could,” Dean sneers, rubbing at the Mark on his arm.

Jody watches him rubbing that spot over and over like it’s a reflexive gesture he doesn’t even know he’s making, so detached from his own body. She tries to be soothing, “I know better, Dean, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried, but I’m watching you,” he growls, turning back to the counter where he picks up the large knife to keep chopping the green onions for the omelet he’s fixing for their breakfast.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

After breakfast, Dean heads out to the garage, leaving a little window of time for Sam to talk to Jody without interference. They meet in her room with the door closed just in case. “I’ve got everything set, we’ll do it tonight,” Sam says, sitting down on the bed next to her.

Jody uncrosses and re-crosses her outstretched legs. “How are you getting him to cooperate?”

“It’s part of the spell, I have to give him this potion thing tonight that prepares him. It’s supposed to hold him in stasis as well as open him up to having the spell work. Something to do with what we would call chakras I think.”

“So, will you need help moving him once he’s out?” Jody asks.

“Yeah, we gotta get him down to the dungeon,” Sam says, dreading that task even more now that he’s got a broken rib.

“You have a dungeon here too?” Jody asks, looking over at Sam in surprise.

“Yep, it’s all demon-proofed and everything, it’s perfect for what we’re doing.”

“The summoning, you mean?” Jody asks.

“Yeah, it’ll keep him contained, as well as Dean until he’s fixed.”

“The only part I’m worried about is saying the words correctly. What the hell is this language anyways?” Jody asks, holding the notebook up at different distances from her face like it will help make the words make sense.

“It’s, well, hard to explain. This is from Oz. Our friend Charlie brought me this spell from a witch friend of hers.”

“So you’re telling me that Oz, as in the fairytale land the Wizard of Oz takes place, is a real thing too?”

“Yeah, that was a surprise, let me tell you. So was meeting Dorothy, and I promise to tell you that whole story after this is over with.”

“Ooookay then. So is the spell gonna work here in our world?” Jody asks.

“Yes, according to Charlie’s friend. That’s what I’m counting on anyways. Dean would kill me if he knew I was depending on the word of a witch, he hates ‘em.”

Jody reaches across the bed and pats Sam on the shoulder. “It’ll work, Sam. Have faith.”

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

Getting Dean to drink the potion is much easier than he’d anticipated. Getting over his guilt for doing this without asking Dean is going to be a harder thing. But the ache of the cuts on his hips and the sharp pain of his broken rib remind him that there’s too much at stake, and Dean himself would not want things to escalate past where they’ve gotten to.

“So what’re we drinking to?” Dean asks, lifting up his mug to smell what’s inside.

“To surviving our first house-guest in a while.” Sam lifts his mug to clink with Dean’s. He’s disguised the potion in some hot chocolate with whipped cream. The taste of the chocolate and sweetness of the cream should disguise the herbiness of the potion. “That was a really nice breakfast you fixed for us, thank you. It’s been good having Jody here, I like having her around.”

“When’s she plannin’ on leavin’?” Dean asks, face going sullen.

“Why you want the place back to just us?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I do, she’s cool, but I like it when it’s just us,” Dean says.

“Drink up, then we can go watch the rest of Game of Thrones,” Sam says, hoping the cajoling will be the trick to get Dean to drink it all.

“This is good cocoa, tastes a little different,” Dean observes.

“Yeah, I put some mint extract in, thought it would cut the sweetness a little,” Sam says, watching Dean carefully to see that he’s consumed the rest of the drink.

Dean slams his mug down on the table and stands up saying, “Done, let’s go, I wanna see who Arya ganks next.”

Sam watches him collapse in slow motion as the potion takes effect. He manages to catch hold of Dean enough to lower him to the floor without smashing his head. The pain shoots through him when he moves so quickly, even with the pressure bandage on, the ribs are going to be an issue. Thank god and all the other deities that Jody is here.

“Jody!” Sam calls out, “Come on in!”

Jody appears in the doorway, “He’s out completely? That was fast.”

“Yeah, it took effect faster than I’d thought it would, so can you take his feet? Let’s get him down there and get started, because who knows how long he’ll really be out.”

In the dungeon, all the lights are on, and there are as many candles lit as Sam could find, both the ones for the ritual and others just for more light. He’s marked a smaller devil’s trap in paint off to the side of the existing one. That’s where they end up dragging Dean’s limp body, placing it in the center. Sam takes his outer shirt off and folds it up, placing it under Dean’s head. He undresses Dean from the waist up, and also places those clothes under Dean. He holds Dean’s slack face between his hands, memorizing the details one last time, just in case, then leans down to kiss him gently, whispering, “Hold on Dean, I gotcha.”

First Sam has to purify himself, so he also removes his remaining shirts. Jody unwraps the pressure bandage from around his ribs as carefully as possible. From the table he picks up a crystal pitcher filled with salted holy water that has sat out under a full moon’s light. That gets poured over his head and shoulders. He splutters through the cool shock of the water and wipes the salty water out of his eyes. The salt stings like a bitch in the scratches Dean left on his torso last night. But it keeps him more alert, focused on the task. Next he lights the bundle of herbs: sage, rue, winter mint, yarrow and moonwort. He hopes they’re the right equivalents to what the herbs are in Oz. The herbs don’t catch at first, but then they burst into a flame that he breathes on, saying the first words of the ritual.

“Omnizee, furstedfree, warnessthee.”

Jody and he look at each other and kind of roll their eyes at how silly the Ozian words sound to their ears, but they both keep repeating the chant, their voices joining together into one that rings through the stone room. Charlie had sworn up and down that the pronunciation did not count too much, it was all about the intention, just like with most spell work. The herb bundle is burning nicely now, so Sam stamps it out in a large abalone shell and then smudges himself and the two devil’s trap circles with the smoke paying special attention to the area around Dean. He sets that aside and moves on to the next preparatory step.


	7. Chapter 7

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

They continue chanting the words in unison, not ceasing the repeating of those odd syllables. Sam can sense a power building that’s different than any other spell work that he’s done before. But that doesn’t stop him. Jody hands him a paintbrush and a small jar of herb-blood-pigment mixture. It’s all ready to use, except for one more ingredient - Dean’s blood. Sam takes up a knife from the altar table and approaches Dean, where he crouches down and slices into the arm that doesn’t have the Mark. He lets the drops of blood fall directly into the container. Jody bandages up the cut on Dean’s arm as Sam mixes the new blood in with the paintbrush.

She holds up the enlarged drawing of the symbols Sam must mark on Dean’s body. First over his heart, a large circle with what looks like stylized claws on either side pulling it apart. Sam dips the brush in the deep red mixture and paints it on in one go. He’d practiced earlier with water. The symbols are simple, but part of the ritual is doing them all in one flowing motion, so that they become one with the body. The next few symbols go elsewhere: on Dean’s torso, one on his throat, third-eye on his forehead, and then the final one surrounding the Mark on his forearm. This is the hardest one, the one that took the most practice, its four lines interlocking and weaving in knots and bundles, encircling the whole oblong shape of the Mark. Even though he’s still chanting the Ozian words, Sam feels like he’s holding his breath almost the whole time that he manages to complete it perfectly, his hand steady as a rock. Because it has to be. This is for Dean.

He hands the brush over to Jody, and she repeats the procedure on Sam’s skin, except for the design on Dean’s forearm. She winces a little when she has to brush over some of the worst bruises and scratches, reminders of why they’re doing this dangerous task.

One last step, before it gets serious. Sam takes a ceremonial knife, passes it through the flame burning on their impromptu table altar three times, then he quickly slices above and below the Mark on Dean’s arm, catching the blood that trickles out in a wide, flat bowl. The blood looks thicker than it should, and darker, and it seems hesitant to exit Dean’s body. Sam squeezes his brother’s hand into a fist, hoping the circulatory system will help them out a little, he just needs a few more drops. Finally enough has gathered in the bowl. Jody hands him two small pieces of towels for bandages that he ties over the wounds to stop the flow of his brother’s blood. They can finally stop repeating the words, but they seem to keep echoing around the space, swirling around, nearly visible. Jody notices, raising her eyebrows at Sam in surprise. Sam shrugs, because he has no explanation.

His senses are on high alert because of being in ritual space already. But now the scent of Dean’s blood in the bowl becomes overwhelming. It slowly dawns on him that his mouth is watering and his heart rate is speeding up. His gut turns over when he recognizes the feeling, - he’s reacting to demon blood for the first time in many years. Their guess, based on all the research, was that there had to be some process going on inside of Dean that was turning him slowly into a demon. That was what it had felt like these past few days that he was losing Dean, just as they were rebuilding their relationship. He’d probably overlooked a lot of things because he and Dean were still weaving themselves back together anew for this last time. Sam pushes down the visceral need that’s been reawakened deep inside, the scent of the blood mingled with the scent of his brother nearly overwhelming him.

Sam stands up slowly, his ribs aching from the strain of unsupported movement, and places the bowl of blood on the altar, eyes never leaving the surface of the deep red liquid catching the shimmers of the candlelight. “Now for the part I’m dreading. Remember, don’t get too close to the edge of the circle. And let me do the talking.”

“Got it. You okay, Sam?”

He can’t answer, using everything he has to stuff down the need to lick everything out of that bowl right then and there. Regardless of Jody watching him so closely, of his brother lying on the floor so still he might as well already be dead. He clenches his fists tightly, digging his fingernails into his palms, concentrates on the small bite of pain he can still feel deep inside from last night. The pain brings him back to himself. The old reliable. “Yeah, just got a little light-headed from the herb smoke, I’m good now.”

The usual herbs are set afire in the small ceremonial bowl, a specific design drawn in chalk on the floor in the center of the empty devil’s trap, with the candles set in the right places. He slices a small cut in his palm and adds a few drops of his own blood to the bowl set in the center of the design, speaking the words,

“Attenrobendum eos,  
ad consiendrum,  
ad ligandum eos,  
potiter et solvendum,  
et ad,  
congregontum eos,

Sed mane, et iubeo

coram me Cain.”

He steps back out of the trap. Nothing happens for a few long beats; Sam and Jody look at each other across the room. Sam lifts one hand up in a signal to hold and wait. Then the candles dim as if they’re being turned down on a dimmer switch, the pressure increases in the room until their ears feel like they’ll pop. “He’s resisting,” Sam says. He remembers the pulling feeling inside himself when he could tug demons around with his mind and concentrates on willing that back into working, feeding it into the summoning spell. “Here he comes,” Sam hisses in triumph, blood trickling down from one nostril.

“Samuel Winchester, we finally meet,” says the grandly bearded man standing in the center of the trap.

“Cain. I suppose you know why you’re here,” Sam answers, pulling himself up to his full height, and pushing his will at the demon’s will, which is invisibly beating at the edge of the trap. He’s years out of practice, but it comes raging back out of the instinct to protect Dean.

Cain stares at Dean lying on the ground across the room, his forearm shining red with the Mark, now the brightest thing in the room. “Your brother tried to kill you yet?”

“No,” Sam says, filled with how proud he is of the strength of his brother’s resistance.

“Impressive,” Cain says in a slight drawl.

“Yeah, he is. We need you to take it back,” Sam states his request simply and with authority.

“Yes,” Cain answers without a moment of pause.

“Just like that?” Sam asks in surprise, feeling there must be a catch, he’d thought this would be the hard part.

“Once it was gone, I could feel again, for the first time in centuries. I could feel the loss of my love, my guilt, my desire for revenge. And the enormity of what I’d done to her, for her, it all overwhelmed me. So you are in luck, Samuel. The only thing I want is the Mark back, and the Blade held firmly in my hand. My vengeance against Abaddon will not be swayed this time.”

“So you’ll take Abaddon out if you get the Mark back?”

“Yes. And then I will disappear again. Crowley or no other, shall ever find me again. My deal with Dean to slay me was inane, - I should know better by now, that God’s punishment is eternal.”

“You swear no harm to those of us in this room?”

“I swear. On the memory of my Colette. I only long for Abaddon’s blood on my blade.”

“Crowley has the Blade.”

“I know. I shall deal with him separately.”

Sam nods at Jody and they drag Dean closer to the trap that Cain is contained in. Sam nudges just Dean’s limp arm into the trap across the boundary with his foot. The Mark suddenly glows even redder. Cain reaches down and takes Dean’s hand in his. A line of red veins appear, a network of them expand, linking the Mark on Dean’s forearm to Cain’s hand; the red flows up Cain’s forearm and the red of the Mark flows through, disappearing slowly from Dean’s arm, leaving only a faint outline of the design on Dean’s skin, still framed by the painted-on design. The Mark pulses bright and whole on Cain’s arm again, and he stands up, letting go of Dean. Sam quickly pulls his brother’s arm out of the devil’s trap. He stands and looks at Cain.

“Your brother will not survive the loss of the Mark. I wish that I could regret it, he was an exemplary man. But in the end just a man. Will you release me now as you promised?”

“Don’t worry about Dean, I’ve got him covered,” Sam says, crossing into the trap to tip over the ceremonial bowl, and stating clearly, “Dimissa es de manu mea.” He scrubs his toe at the paint on the floor as he steps backwards out of the devil’s trap.

Cain bows his head in thanks. “Thank you, Samuel Winchester, you are indeed a man worthy of your brother’s love and devotion.”

“Thanks, Cain, tell Abaddon we said hi when you see her,” Sam nods and grins.

Cain grins, a slow, deadly grin full of murderous intent. “I shall indeed, goodbye.” He raises his hand in farewell, the Mark glowing hot and red on his arm, and blinks out of existence.

Sam blows out a relieved sigh, and turns around to look at his companion. “Jody, this is the last step, you ready?”

“Yeah, are you?” she asks, looking at Sam with concern, he seems to be wavering a little on his feet. Sam looks at her with a weak smile and nods.

Sam comes back to her side at the altar table and adds several herbs to the bowl with Dean’s blood. He begins repeating the Ozian words again, Jody’s voice joining him. “Omnizee, furstedfree, warnessthee”

He swirls the bowl to mix the herbs, picks up the knife, passing it through the candle’s flame three times again and cuts himself on the arm, lets the blood drain into the bowl to combine with Dean’s.

He repeats the words one last time, adding the contents of another smaller glass of the full moon blessed salted holy water, “Omnizee, furstedfree, warnessthee”

The contents of the bowl begin to glow with a green that reminds him of the Oz witch that had killed Charlie. He crosses back over to kneel beside Dean’s still form.

“I would only do this for you, Dean.” He tips the bowl back and drinks half of it down in one gasping gulp. The power from the hint of demon blood flows through him, reawakening his senses, his powers reigniting as well as his desire to have this done. Jody moves over behind Dean’s head and lifts it up so that he’s almost sitting, she braces him against her legs. Sam tips Dean’s head back and pours the remainder of the bowl’s contents into his mouth. He holds Dean’s mouth closed and pinches his nose shut too. Dean gasps and inhales and swallows all at once, coughing and spluttering.

The faint trace of the Mark that is still showing on Dean’s forearm glows briefly red, but much paler than before; the outlined design that Sam had painted glows the same green as the bowl, the colors mixing and swirling in the oblong of skin contained in the design. Sam bends down and bites Dean’s skin in the center, drinking in the mixture of blood, remaining power from the Mark and the effect of the Oz spell. He sits back on his heels, head thrown back in a silent scream.

Jody’s hands clench tighter on the top of Dean’s shoulders, she knows she can’t interfere in this part. Sam controls himself just enough to suck at the cut in his arm he’d made for the spell, bringing in enough of his own blood to equal the amount he took from Dean. He’s just able to pull a still limp and pliable Dean into his lap, completely out of Jody’s hands now, all up to Sam.

Sam cradles Dean in his arms, just as he has so many times when Dean’s been dead or near-death. He leans down and seals their mouths together. He kisses Dean at the same time he releases the mixture of magic and their mingled blood into Dean’s mouth, desperately willing Dean to wake up, to take it in, and to accept it. Finally Dean seems to come back to himself, the mixture in Sam’s mouth is being absorbed into Dean’s too, - it’s sinking into both of them, and the taste left behind just a coppery reminder of shared blood. Then it’s just a sleepy yet desperate kiss.

Dean pushes Sam off of him after a while and opens his eyes, asking in a thick, groggy voice, “Sammy, did I take the blue pill or the red one?”

“Yeah, yeah, Dean, you’re alright now, I gotcha,” Sam says, holding Dean in his arms and running his hands up and down his back.

“Where are we?” Dean asks, sounding cranky.

“At home, we’re in the dungeon. You’re free, Dean.”

Dean tries to sit up on his own, but his muscles aren’t cooperating. Sam assists him to sit, holding his shoulders steady. “You’re okay, Dean, let’s get out of here.”

“’kay,” Dean agrees. Jody steps behind him and holds him up briefly, while Sam stands. They both help Dean to rise and Jody steps back as Sam holds him in a close hug.

“You made it, Dean,” Sam says, bursting with the joy of having saved his brother.

“Tired, Sammy,” Dean mumbles into Sam’s neck.

“I know, c’mon,” Sam says, holding his brother up around the waist and walking out of the dungeon.

Jody stays behind to snuff out all the candles. She looks around the room and shakes her head at what she’s just witnessed. It’s not much different than the other times she’s spent with these boys, but what she just saw pass between them is something extraordinary; the reverberations of the spell and the power and the transfer still echo in the room.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2h6equv)

Sam gets Dean settled on their bed, wiping the bloody designs off with a warm washcloth, paying special attention to the bite mark that he’d just made on his brother. He doesn’t need Dean to get an infection after all this.

“What happened?” Dean asks, sounding weak, but not far away like he did before.

“I got Cain to take the Mark back from you. He wanted it back, and he’s off to take out Abaddon,” Sam says, wrapping a fresh bandage around the bite mark on Dean’s arm.

“You summoned him here? What the hell, Sam? What else is there? Because I know there’s more,” Dean says, sounding like he’s starting to get angry.

“So, the absence of the Mark kinda rearranged your soul, Dean. It pretty much left it in pieces, because of how the Mark changes someone, so I needed to give you a little part of mine to bandage you back together until you can heal yourself. We’re now soul bonded, by the way.”

“Is that what the bad taste in my mouth is?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, that’d be our blood, some herbs and the magical aftertaste,” Sam answers, taping up the bandage on his own arm.

“How did you figure all this out?” Dean asks.

“Charlie. She brought the spell with her from Oz. A witch there saw us, and saw the future, what was gonna happen with you and the Mark. She said it was going to kill both of us.”

“You took a risk like this on the word of a witch?” Dean asks, almost sitting up off the bed in a incredulous panic.

Sam sits down next to Dean on top of the blankets, trapping him in on one side. “Even without what Charlie said, I could see it was killing you Dean. You were less and less yourself every day. Cain just told me you’d die after he took the Mark back. So, I had to. I had no other choice.”

“You had no other choice? How about just letting me die killing Abaddon? How about that choice, Sam?” Dean demands.

“Oh, listen to you! You’re really going to throw that up as a solution? Dean, this is why I took on the Trials in the first place, you and your heroic death wish! If you’d let me finish the damn third Trial, Abaddon wouldn’t even be here to be a problem. I thought the idea was we both get out of this alive. Together.”

“Yeah, but you should have at least asked me. I mean this soul bond thing is forever, right?” Dean asks, twisting around like he wants to jump out of the bed and run away from this new thing between them.

“So? And what about you and me isn’t?” Sam asks, with noticeable emphasis on the pronouns to catch Dean’s attention.

Another ‘So?’ from Sam, yet another one to deal with, to read and process and understand. Dean hesitates to take on the consequences of the obvious answer to Sam’s question. He goes through all the usual arguments in his head, and comes up with the only real objection that’s ever rung true to him. “True, but what if you decide you need to take off and be ‘normal’ again?”

Sam stands up abruptly, looming over Dean, lying in their bed. “God damnit, Dean, when are you gonna get this through your head? I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere.”

Dean grabs at Sam’s wrist to hold him from thinking of walking away. “But you deserve more than me. You always have. And now you can’t ever get that.”

Sam shakes his wrist free of Dean’s weak hold. “Would you stop? Don’t you ever listen to me? I don’t want some mythical normal that’s waiting for me out there. You are my normal. I want you. I need you. There is no one else ever that has even come close. And I don’t ever want to look when I’ve already got you. I mean, I do have you, right?” Sam sits back down on the bed and looks down at his brother’s face.

Dean rolls his eyes and laughs. “Yes. Idiot.”

“Good. Then cut it out. We’ll figure the soul bond thing out. Maybe it’ll end up being a good thing, who knows,” Sam says, shrugging even though this is probably the biggest thing that’s happened since Sam’s soul got rehabbed after being re-installed.

“I’m still angry that you took this risk though. Without even asking me first. What if it had hurt you somehow?” Dean asks, turning over on his side so he can curl around Sam and put his head in his lap.

Sam holds Dean’s head in hands and looks down at him, searching his face for the truth. “Would you have agreed to try? Yeah, didn’t think so. Sometimes we save each other when we don’t think we want it or deserve it. What was it you told me? Get used to it.”

“Not the same thing, Sam, not even close,” Dean says, staring up at Sam, mesmerized by his changing eyes as usual.

“Yeah it was. It was even worse than you just dying in some hospital bed like I was. Dean, Crowley was going to have you under his control basically forever. As a killing machine. I couldn’t let that happen to you again, not after Alastair,” Sam says, looking down into Dean’s eyes, begging him to understand what he had to do.

“So now I’m under your control instead? And that’s better?” Dean asks, lifting his head out of Sam’s hands and struggling to sit up on his own.

Sam helps him get rearranged even though he doesn’t want it. “You are not under my control. Why would you think that? That isn’t how this works. I don’t control you, you don’t control me, we’re just bound. We can see inside each other better.”

“Even though you have your powers back?” Dean asks, arms crossed in front of chest, frown on his face.

“How do you even know that? Yes, they are back, it’s from drinking your blood, Dean, you were that close to becoming a demon. I swear, though, you are absolutely not under my control.”

“Guess I know because the soul bond told me so. But you don’t have the mind whammy thing like that Andy guy?” Dean asks.

“What? No, I mean, I don’t think I do. But if I do, I promise I won’t use it on you.”

“Okay,” Dean says, accepting Sam’s promise easily, maybe because of the soul bond, maybe because he’s beyond tired or maybe because he believes Sam.

“Just like that? Okay?” Sam asks, surprised that Dean’s acceptance came so easily.

“Yeah. You were right about the you and me thing,” Dean says, scooting back down the bed so he’s in sleep position.

Sam racks his brain, what Dean could be referring to, they’ve said so much, and then he remembers his words from a few moments ago, “What forever?”

Dean’s fading fast now, his tenuous hold on reality slipping, so he says what’s always on the tip of his tongue, always being held back unsaid. “Yeah. You and me against the world, until it’s over for us both.”

Sam bows his head under the weight of Dean’s words, feeling them penetrate his skin, flow into his veins and expand and take root in his heart. If this is what soul bonding means, he’s all for it now. Since Dean’s given him this, he needs to return the favor before Dean passes out completely. “Yeah, you and me Dean, always. Listen, get this, you’ll like this bit. I’m pretty sure that now that we’re bound, if one of us dies, we both do.”

“Why would I like that Sammy?” Dean asks as Sam lies down beside him and pulls the covers over the both of them.

Sam turns his head on the pillow and looks over at Dean. “We get to our Heaven at the same time. No fuss, no muss, no waiting around, no time to sell your soul or whatever.”

“Huh, guess that’s a pretty good deal,” Dean says, voice slipping off into sleep.

Sam listens to his brother’s steady breathing for a moment. “You said recently that we keep each other human. And I guess we still do.”

~FIN~


End file.
